He started up in alarm, and sprung upon the floor, exclaiming: "In Heaven's name, Mary! what is the matter ?" His wife made no answer.

She was lying with her face pressed close to that of little Harry, and both were pale as ashes.

The father placed his hand upon the cheek of his boy, and found it marble cold.
Clasping his hands tightly against his forehead, he staggered backward and fell; but he did not strike the floor, but seemed falling, falling, falling from a fearful height.

Suddenly he was conscious that he had been standing on a lofty tower--had missed his footing, and was now about being dashed to pieces to the earth.
Before reaching the ground, horror overcame him, and he lost, for a moment, his sense of peril.
"Thank God!" was uttered, most fervently, in the next instant.
"For what, dear ?" asked Mrs.Bancroft, rising up partly from her pillow, and looking at her husband with a half-serious, half-laughing face.
"That little Harry is not dead." And Mr.Bancroft bent over and fixed his eyes with loving earnestness upon the rosy-cheeked, sleeping child.
Just then there came from the adjoining room a wild burst of girlish laughter.
"What's that ?" A strange surprise flashed over the face of Mr.
Bancroft.
"Kate and Mary are in a gay humor this morning," said the mother.
"But what have you been dreaming about, dear ?" As this question was asked, a strain of music was heard floating up from the parlor, and the voice of Flora came sweetly warbling a familiar air.
The father buried his face in the pillow, and wept for joy.

He had awakened from a long, long dream of horror.
From that time Mr.Bancroft became a wiser man.