He smiled gratefully and lovingly, and so keeping his eyes on her as she walked towards the door, Phil saw the white-robed figure pass out from his gaze for ever. Soon after that he fell asleep. Going out on tip-toe to meet her father when he came in from his work, Millie brought him into Phil's room. Together they sat by his bedside and watched him. For the dying boy, the light of life was indeed burning dimly. "Millie," he said suddenly. "What is it, dear? We thought you were asleep." "No, I have been thinking. My pain is all gone, and such beautiful things came into my mind. Will you say my verse to me?" He always spoke of the text that Miss Crawford had written in his Bible as his verse. "I like to hear your voice." She did so: "'We love Him, because He first loved us.'" "Isn't it sweet?" he said, with a smile lighting up his face. "O! Millie," he went on earnestly, "I am so glad now that it ever happened. It seemed so hard at first. I couldn't understand that it was done in love. O! The love of the Lord Jesus! I was hard and wicked, and it softened me and won me over in spite of myself. Love has done it all through—first yours, then Miss Crawford's, and then the greatest love of all—the love that is stronger than death. Don't cry, Millie dear, there's nothing to grieve for." She smiled through her tears and caressed his hand lovingly. He said no more, and presently fell asleep again. Hours passed before he opened his eyes and spoke again. "Millie, tell me your dream once more." She did not understand, and asked gently, what dream he meant. "The dream you told me on the bridge in London. I want to hear it again." Kneeling down by his bedside, and forcing herself to speak in a clear voice, she began: "I dreamt, dear, that you and I lived here together, just as we did at Mrs. Blake's cottage, only that you were quite well and strong; and that one beautiful night, when the moon shone brightly—see, it is shining so to-night—you and I walked on the sands at low tide. I had a great longing upon me to go to mother. I thought the glistening ladder of light the moon shed across the sea seemed a way that would lead us to her. You said you would come too, and hand-in-hand we ran over the sands. But when we came to the water's edge, there stood father, and though we tried, we could not pass under his outstretched arms. He asked us where we were going, and when I told him, he begged us to come back, and wait till he was ready to go with us. Then—" "Yes, yes," said Phil, interrupting her, but speaking in so low a voice that they had to bend down their ears to catch the words—"Yes, yes, I remember. I couldn't wait; I had gone on. Father, you and Millie will come together some day." There was a long silence. The father and daughter knew that the light was going out fast. Day was just breaking, when again the weak, quivering voice was heard: