The lessening rain-drops fell light and silvery to the earth, and breeze and sunshine were wafted at fitful intervals over the plague-tainted atmosphere of Rome.

As yet, subdued by the shadows of the floating clouds, the dawning sunbeams glittered softly through the windows of Numerian's chamber.

They played, warm and reviving, over his worn features, like messengers of resurrection and hope from their native heaven.

Life seemed to expand within him under their fresh and gentle ministering.

Once more he raised himself, and turned towards his child; and now his heart throbbed with a healthful joy, and his arms closed round her, not in the helplessness of infirmity, but in the welcome of love.
His words, when he spoke to her, fell at first almost inarticulately from his lips--they were mingled together in confused phrases of tenderness, contrition, thanksgiving.