She wept some time after he was gone, but soon felt more cheerful, and frequently repeated what he had promised--that he would never leave home again after that season. A week had passed, and a little voice was heard. She fondly clasped her babe to her breast and called it "My little Charles, my darling baby! Oh! how happy I am." They were both doing well. Letters were sent to her husband by every mail, which were duly received by him. She wished the child would resemble his father, who was a splendid man in every sense. She too was perfect in form and feature. It was the day on which she had attained her age of twenty-seven years, eight months, and twenty-six days, _the age marked on the tombstone she had seen in her dream of about nine years before_. All the family knew of it, though she gave no sign of thinking of it, and seemed entirely cheerful and happy. The little one was two weeks old; a letter was received that morning saying, "I shall be at home the last of this week. I shall say farewell to Albany." Words cannot express her joy at this unexpected announcement. She directed everything, how to dress the baby, and arranged for them to go after her husband's mother and sister, who had not seen the little one, as they had been absent on a visit. They were delighted to find Bessie and the baby so well, and the little Charles looking "so exactly like his father, except that he had his mother's curly hair." The mother seemed perfectly happy, but there were anxious hearts that silently prayed to God to avert the fearful calamity, which they feared might now be hanging over them. The day was passing away. She was well and cheerful. Her family were near her, doing all they could to divert her thoughts from _the date_. Her minister, Rev. Mark Johnson, and his wife called to spend an hour with the family. She was pleased to see them, and united with them in prayer. She called Mrs. Johnson to see how sweetly the infant nestled in her bosom. Then, turning to the minister she said, "Mr. Johnson, we shall have the baby christened Charles Smith Higgins as soon as his father comes home." The last rays of the setting sun shone on the tree tops. Once more she called attention to the child, smiling on it the while; when suddenly she exclaimed, "Oh!" and placed one hand upon her breast, while with the other pressing the babe closer to her bosom. Mother caught her in her arms, her sister Catharine ran to call the doctor; but before they could enter the room, her spirit had taken its flight to the immortal world. Her tombstone now records her dream, verbatim, in the old cemetery in Sodus. They directed letters to her husband and friends in Albany, also sent letters to every packet-boat going east and returning. (There were no railroads nor convenient telegraph wires at that time.) They published the sad news in all the papers, and sent them to every place where he would be likely to get them.