It must be nice to live in them; it must be nice to be a denizen of Paradise.
'I'm in earnest, Emma.' His voice caused her to gaze at him again.
'Bring a chair,' he said, 'and I'll tell you something that'll--keep you awake.' The insensible fellow! Her sweet, pale, wondering face was so close to his, the warmth of her drooping frame was against his heart--and he bade her sit apart to listen.
She placed herself as he desired, sitting with her hands together in her lap, her countenance troubled a little, wishing to smile, yet not quite venturing.

And he told his story, told it in all details, with figures that filled the mouth, that rolled forth like gold upon the bank-scales.
'This is mine,' he said, 'mine and yours.' Have you seen a child listening to a long fairy tale, every page a new adventure of wizardry, a story of elf, or mermaid, or gnome, of treasures underground guarded by enchanted monsters, of bells heard silverly in the depth of old forests, of castles against the sunset, of lakes beneath the quiet moon?
Know you how light gathers in the eyes dreaming on vision after vision, ever more intensely realised, yet ever of an unknown world?
How, when at length the reader's voice is silent, the eyes still see, the ears still hear, until a movement breaks the spell, and with a deep, involuntary sigh the little one gazes here and there, wondering?
So Emma listened, and so she came back to consciousness, looking about the room, incredulous.

Had she been overcome with weariness?
Had she slept and dreamt?
One of the children stirred and uttered a little wailing sound.

She stepped lightly to the bedside, bent for a moment, saw that all was well again, and came back on tip-toe.

The simple duty had quieted her throbbing heart.