All night the children slept on their rude pallet, lulled by the howling of the storm, as it came dulled through the thick walls of the fishing-house. All night Hagar slumbered a fitful and uninterrupted slumber, more like a succession of fainting fits than a natural sleep, for overpowered by fatigue, she would fall into a state of deep insensibility, from which she would often start in terror, aroused by a sudden consciousness or dream of wrong, danger, or censure, of a terrible and impending destiny. All night Gusty sat upon the inverted tub drawn up between the fire-dogs, guarding his charges and keeping up the fire. Gusty, in whom the animal so largely predominated, found it very hard to keep awake—yet Gusty, who had never lost a meal’s victuals or a night’s sleep for any grief or disappointment he had ever suffered—Gusty, now that the health and comfort of others made it necessary for him to do so—propped his eyes open with heroic perseverance. Every one knows how difficult it is to keep from going to sleep, alone, in a quiet room over a good fire; there is something soporific in its genial heat, even in the day time. Gusty could have sworn he had not closed his eyes the whole night, yet by some inexplicable magic he had, or dreamed he had taken up a stick to mend the fire—at deep, dark, stormy midnight—and when he put it down, or when it fell from his hand—the instant after—it was broad, bright, glorious daylight! with the sun beaming a blinding light through the window, whose form was traced in amber radiance upon the opposite wall, near which Hagar stood in her travelling dress, ready for a walk, with the two babies standing clinging to her skirts, and gazing with baby wonder upon the strange scene in which they found themselves. “Lord!—yes!—well!—I declare!—so it is!” exclaimed Gusty, starting up. “I am glad you slept well, Gusty, dear, kind friend,” said Hagar. “I never SLEPT!” averred Gusty, with his eyes still wide open with astonishment, thinking himself bewitched. Hagar smiled sadly to herself, and did not contradict him. Gusty arose, and shook himself, like a great honest dog roused from slumber, and walking to the door opened it and looked out. “Oh! Hagar, come!” said he, “look out—what a glorious morning!”