Mary and Joseph went out, and sat down together in the starlight, that fell softly upon them through the apple boughs. They had so many things to say, and confessions to make; each was timidly anxious to search the heart of the other, and read all the sweet hidden mysteries that seemed fathomless there. Meanwhile aunt Hannah went into the out-room--that in which her sister Anna died, and kneeling down, with her hands pressed on the bottom of a chair, broke into a passion so deep and earnest that her whole frame shook with the agony of her struggle. She arose at length and began to walk the floor, wringing her hands and moaning as if in pain. Thus she toiled and struggled in prayer all night, for it was the anniversary of her sister's anguish and death. Many a softening influence had crept into that frozen nature, with the young persons who brought their joys and their sorrows beneath her roof, and now came the solemn breaking up of her heart. She learned the true method of atonement in the stillness of that nightwatch. It was the regeneration of a soul. When the day broke, she stole up to Isabel Chester's room, and kissed her pallid cheeks as she slept. "Be comforted," she said, smiling down upon the unconscious face; "be comforted, for the day of your joy is at hand." CHAPTER XLIX. THE DOUBLE BIRTH-DAY. Brother awake--my soul is strong with pain-- And humbled with a night of solemn prayer, Never--oh, never, can I rest again, Till restitution lifts me from despair! When aunt Hannah entered uncle Nathan's room he was sound asleep, with a smile upon his half-open mouth, and two large arms folded lovingly over his head, as if a sweet morning nap were the most, exquisite enjoyment known to him. For a moment aunt Hannah stood by the bed-side with her eyes, full of dark trouble, fixed upon his serene face. When had she slept so tranquilly? would she ever know an hour of innocent, child-like slumber like that again? "Nathan--brother Nathan," she said, in a husky voice that aroused the old man from its very strangeness; "get up--I have something for you to do." "Why, Hannah," said the old man, rubbing his eyes like a great fat child, "am I late? what is the matter? just give me my clothes there, and I'll be up before you can get the breakfast on the table. I'm very sorry, very sorry, indeed; but somehow, I couldn't seem to get asleep, last night, tired as I was--you know what night it was. Old times keep me awake nights, Hannah, I think so much just now of poor little Anna!" "It isn't late, Nathan," answered the sister, still in her hoarse, unnatural voice, "but I want you to go up the street, and ask our minister to come here at ten o'clock." "The minister! why, what for, sister Hannah? You ain't getting anxious, nor nothing--I thought the day of regeneration had come, long ago, with both of us." "Do not ask me questions, now, brother, but get up and go my errand."