The moonlight streamed in through the window and lay soft and filmy white upon the appointments of the room. The night was very lovely—a tropical night of serene and glorious beauty. From her bed, Anne could look outside to where, bathed in the moon rays, verdure and foliage took on the most wonderful and delicate shades and colourings. And it was very quiet—very still. Not a leaf on the top of a tall palm that was directly in line with the window and that she had been watching for ever so long, moved, apparently, by the slightest fraction of an inch.
She could not sleep; she did not know that she even wished to sleep—the morrow was filled with the promise of so much happiness and glad excitement. Sleep had not come; but dreams had—very happy dreams, dreams that were full of tender fancie
