"Why, come right in and join the circle, James! You're one of us," cried Mr. Hardy cheerfully. So James drew up his chair, and conversation was continued. They were sitting in the room upstairs, where Clara lay facing an open fire. The doctor had called in the middle of the afternoon, and brought two other skilled surgeons and physicians at Mr. Hardy's request. It was a singular case, and nothing special could be done. This was the unanimous opinion after deep consultation, and after remaining some time the doctors had withdrawn.

When it grew dark, Alice started to turn on the lights, but her father said: "Let us sit in the firelight." So they drew close together, and in an awe looked upon him who seemed so sure that. God would call him away at midnight. Who shall recount the words that were uttered? the exact sentences spoken? the fears and hopes and petitions and tears of the wife? the commands of the father to his boys to grow up into the perfect manhood in Jesus Christ? the sweet words of love and courage that passed between him and his wife and daughters? These things cannot be described; they can only be imagined.

So the night passed. It was after eleven o'clock; the conversation had almost ceased and all were sitting hushed in a growing silence, when Clara spoke again, so suddenly and clearly that they were all startled and awed by it:

"Father! mother! where have I been? I have had such a dream! Where are you? Where am I?"

Mrs. Hardy arose, and with tears streaming down her face kneeled beside the bed and in a few words recalled Clara to her surroundings. The girl had come out of her strange unconsciousness with all her faculties intact. Gradually she recalled the past, the accident, the dream of her father. She smiled happily on them all, and they for a while forgot the approach of midnight and its possible meaning to Mr. Hardy—all but himself. He kneeled by the bed, at the side of his wife, and thanked God that his dear one was restored. Suddenly he rose to his feet and spoke aloud, quietly, but clearly: "Did you not hear someone calling?" His face was pale but peaceful. He bent down and kissed Clara, embraced his sons, drew his wife to him, and placed his hand on Bessie's head; then, as if in answer to a command, he gently kneeled down again by his chair and as his lips moved in prayer the clock struck once more the hour of twelve. He continued kneeling there, nearer God than he had ever been in all his life before.

Thus Robert Hardy's Seven Days came to an end.

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