It was very warm in our little sheltered bower; for though the trees kept off the sunshine--the fierce Virginian sunshine--they deprived us of the breeze which we only knew to be blowing by the waving of the tops, and the whispering of the higher leaves as they jostled each other amid the bending boughs. Traces of fatigue were on Bessy's face; and I coaxed her to go to sleep, persuading her it would give her strength for our onward walk. It was very pleasant to watch her while she lay with closed eyes; and when I had been gazing upon her in the early morning, I could not make out what was the especial charm. There must be something, I think, in the aspect of peace and calm--not without life, but living, animated, perfect tranquillity, so harmonious to the latent hopes and expectations of immortality, when all shall be absorbed in the serene and deep sense of God's great goodness, that the contemplation of even a faint and inadequate image of such a state fills the bosom with strange and bewildered admiration. Bessy needed no great persuasion indeed, for her eyes were very heavy; and besides the omnipotent and ever watchful Eye, there was another loving wakefulness to watch over her. She leaned upon my shoulder, and her eyes closed. Then, suddenly, she opened them with a start--some memory of danger or of grief crossed the still waking fancy--and then the sweet eyes closed again, and she slept profoundly. I could have slumbered too in such dear proximity; for I also was somewhat weary, and felt less strong than was my wont. But I would not suffer an eye to close while there was danger near my treasure. An hour, perhaps an hour and a half, passed. I could not tell how the day had gone by, for I had forgotten to wind up my watch, and it had stopped; but I judged by the aspect of the sky that it must be near four o'clock. Sometimes I had gazed on Bessy as she lay, and thought to myself, how false a forger must nature be if the writing on that lovely face did not speak a noble, sweet, frank spirit below. Then I remembered an old picture in my father's house, of the Children in the Wood, nearly in the same attitude as we lay there, and as innocent of evil thoughts as we were. I smiled at the quaint comparison that wove itself in my mind between those babes and ourselves. At other times my eye roved round our little shady resting-place, and my ear was turned to catch any sound that might announce the approach of danger. Two pistols and the gun lay beside me, and the other two pistols in my pocket were in reach of my hand. To say sooth, I had some confidence both in my courage and my dexterity, and I doubted not that I could give a good account even of a numerous body of assailants.