The sky above the chapel roof turned from gray to rose, and rose to gold. The vane on the spire caught the first gleam of the rising sun, and at the same moment the Master opened his eyes. He looked round on the group by the bedside with a glad, dazed expectation in them that had caught the brightness of another morning. He was looking round for someone; perhaps if she who he was looking for had been there he would not have seen her. His lips were moving, and Lucy bent down to hear what he was saying. 'I shall meet her at the gate,' he said. 'She is sure to be waiting at the gate.' The sweet June morning broke, and the sun rose over the gray battlements of the old court and the roof of the college chapel; but to the old Master there was a newer day and another morning. When Lucy came in to see the Master's wife later in the day she found her still dozing. She had not taken notice of anything or anyone all through the night. She had not missed Mary from her side; but when she heard Lucy's voice in the room--she was only speaking in a whisper--she opened her eyes, and Lucy thought she knew her. 'It is I, dear,' she said in a shaky voice. She could not keep her voice steady or the tears out of her eyes. 'It is Dick's little daughter.' The patient face on the pillow smiled, and she moved her hand towards her--a little thin, shadowy hand, that was feebly groping about the coverlet, oh, so like the Master! Lucy took it in hers, and smoothed it between her own soft, warm palms. Her lips were moving, and the girl bent over her to catch the words. It was the old question; she had never anything else to ask. 'How is the Master?' Lucy ought to have been prepared for it; but she wasn't. She was so broken down and unstrung and worn out with that night of watching that she was not prepared for anything. 'Oh, you poor dear!' she said. 'Don't you know that the Master is well? He is quite--quite well!' 'Quite well?' 'Yes, quite well.' Then Lucy began to cry. She could not keep her tears back any longer, and Cousin Mary turned her out of the sick-room. Nurse Brannan found her sobbing in the window-seat, and ordered her to bed, where she soon cried herself to sleep. With the unimpaired appetite of youth for sleep, Lucy slept through all the long June day. She slept until the sunset light again touched the roof of the college chapel. It would be slipping off it presently, like it had slipped off the day before, when the Master was here to watch it. Perhaps he was watching it now. Lucy would not have awakened even then, if Nurse Brannan had not aroused her. 'Come,' she said, shaking her; 'get up at once. Mrs. Rae is asking for you. Come at once, or you will be too late!'