My kiss and blessing to the little one.

God help her! Hurry, John! I will have your horse at the door in ten minutes." In that long, dark, hurrying ride to London, he suddenly remembered that for two days he had been haunted by a waylaying thought of some verses he had read and cut out of a daily paper, and with the remembrance, back they came to his mind, setting themselves to a phantom melody he could hardly refrain himself from softly singing, "Many waters go softly dreaming On to the sea, But the river of Death floweth softest, By tower and tree.
"No rush of the mournful waters Breaks on the ear, To tell us when Life is strongest, That Death flows near.
"But through throbbing hearts of cities In the heat of the day, The cool, dark River passeth On its silent way.
"This is the River that follows Wherever we go, No sand so dry and thirsty, But these strange waters flow.
"Many waters go softly dreaming On to the sea, But the river of Death flows softest To Thee and me.
"And the Lord's voice on the waters Lingereth sweet, He that is washed needest only To wash his feet.".