Mr. Egglestone, who has been much about the hospital from the first, enters with a radiant look, and steps lightly to Frank's side. The drummer boy's eyes unclose, and smile their welcome. "Better, still better, I am glad to see!" says the minister, cheerily. "Almost well," answered Frank, although so weak that he can hardly speak. "I shall be out again in a day or two. The fever has quite left me; and I was having such a beautiful dream. I thought I was a water-lily, floating on a lake; and the lake, they told me, was _sleep_; and I felt all whiteness and peace! Wasn't it pretty?" "Pretty, and true too!" said the minister, with a suffusing tear, as he looked at the pale, gentle boy, and thought how much like a white fragrant lily he was. "I have news for you, Frank. The steamer has arrived." "O! and letters?" "Probably, though I have none yet. But something besides letters!"--Mr. Egglestone whispered confidentially, "Atwater's wife is here!" "Is she? Brave girl!--O, dear!" said Frank, his features changing suddenly, "why didn't my mother come too! She might, I think! It seems as if I couldn't wait, as if I couldn't live, till I see her!" "Well, Frank," then said the minister, having thus prepared him, "your mother did think--your mother is here!" At the moment, Mrs. Manly, who could be no longer restrained, flew to the bedside of her son. He started up with a wild cry; she caught him in her arms; they clung and kissed and cried together. "Mother! mother!" "My child! my darling child!" were the only words that could be heard in that smothering embrace. Mr. Egglestone turned, and took the hand of her companion, who had entered with her, and led her to the cot where lay the still figure and placid, sculptured face. O woman, be strong! O wife, be calm! keep back the tears, stifle the anguish, of that heaving breast. She is strong, she is calm, tears and anguish are repressed. She bends over the scarcely breathing form, gazes into the utterly pallid face, and with clasped hands in silence blesses him, prays for him--her husband. For this is he--Abe Atwater, the shadow of death he foresaw still darkening the portal of his body, as if hesitating to enter, nor yet willing to pass by. And the face in the coffin outside there is the face of the old drummer, whose soul, let us hope, is at peace. One was taken--will the other be left? The eyes of Abe opened; they beheld the vision of his wife, and gladness, like a river of soft waters, glides into his soul. O, may it be a river of life to him! As love has held his spirit back from death, so may its power restore him; for such things have been; and there is no medicine for the sick body or sinking soul like the breath and magnetic touch of love. Frank meanwhile was lying on his bed, holding his mother's hands, and drinking in the joy of her presence. And she was feeding his rapture with the tenderest motherly words and looks, and telling him of home.