The doctor came to remain as long as it was necessary. Her husband had already overstaid his time; and, as it was important for him to be in Albany, he was obliged to leave. There were many anxious hearts that feared, and silently prayed that their hopes of happiness might be realized. (I really do think that she had been reasoned out of belief in _that_ dream.) She rejoiced and was happy when he promised her he would never again accept an office which would take him from home.
It was a bright, lovely morning. The team stood waiting at the gate, to take him to Newark (ten miles), the nearest point from which he could reach the canal packet boat, for Albany. Bessie walked with him to the gate (about two hundred feet from the door), where he tenderly embraced her and kissed her again and again, promising that he would refrain from leaving home on business in the future. He alluded in glowing terms to their prospects of happiness, in the birth of their expected child, and warned her of the danger of yielding to superstition. He begged her not to repeat her dreams, as they were the result of a disordered condition of health. Then, taking her in his arms, he carried her back to the house, saying: "My darling, I cannot part with you here at the gate; permit me to remember you as seated in your pleasant room, surrounded by loving friends, and happy again." He held her in a long, fond embrace, kissing her with tears and sobs, and gently seating her in her easy-chair, bade her farewell, and rushed to the conveyance, fearing to look back, lest he should see her weeping at the door.
She wept some time after he was gone, but soon felt more cheerful, and frequently repeated what he had promised--that he would never leave home again after that season.
A week had passed, and a little voice was heard. She fondly clasped her babe to her breast and called it "My little Charles, my darling baby! Oh! how happy I am." They were both doing well. Letters were sent to her husband by every mail, which were duly received by him. She wished the child would resemble his father, who was a splendid man in every sense. She too was perfect in form and feature.
It was the day on which she had attained her age of twenty-seven years, eight months, and twenty-six days, _the age marked on the tombstone she had seen in her dream of about nine years before_. All the family knew of it, though she gave no sign of thinking of it, and seemed entirely cheerful and happy.