“Foy Cometh in the Morning.” 143

and a dark mist rolled over and blotted out the
sight of everything. Careful hands laid me on the
sofa, and I tried to answer the dear, deep voice that
I could just hear through the rushing in my ears.
But I only brought out, in a hard unnatural
voice, “I made sure you were dead!” and then
I began to laugh and cry both at once, and had
to have a glass of water, and was very much
ashamed, and gave no end of trouble, before I
could look up calmly at last, and meet those kind
eyes that I had thought never to meet again, gazing
at me from under the bushy eyebrows.

Master George was loud in his sorrow at the un-
expected effect of his merry plan. He would never
make surprises again, he said, about anything worth
more than three-halfpence. He had thought we
should all have a good laugh, and there would be
an end of it.

“It is only because of not being strong again yet,
sir,” said I, “that I could not laugh. Oh, sir, my
dear master, I am so glad, I don’t know how to
say it.”

My master laid his folded hands on the table be-
fore him, and repeated the 103rd Psalm—~* Bless the
Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless
His holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and
forget not all His benefits: who forgiveth all thine