s
ready to cast their harsh stones at him, and to thunder down their
denunciations when the time came. In proportion to their fierceness
then, was their contrition now; Richard had been innocent all the while;
they had been more guilty than he.

An English mob, gentle or simple, never gets up its excitement by
halves. Whether its demonstration be of a laudatory or a condemnatory
nature, the steam is sure to be put on to bursting point. With one
universal shout, with one bound, they rallied round Richard; they
congratulated him; they overwhelmed him with good wishes; they expressed
with shame their repentance; they said the future would atone for the
past. Had he possessed a hundred hands, they would have been shaken
off. And when Richard extracted himself, and turned, in his pleasant,
forgiving, loving nature, to his father, the stern old justice,
forgetting his pride and pomposity, burst into tears and sobbed like a
child, as he murmured something about his also needing forgiveness.

"Dear father," cried Richard, his own eyes wet, "it is forgiven and
forgotten already. Think how happy we shall be again together, you, and
I, and my mother."

The justice's hands, which had been wound around his son, relaxed their
hold. They were twitching curiously; the body also began to twitch,
and he fell upon the shoulder of Colonel Bethel in a second stroke of
paralysis.

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE DEATH CHAMBER.

By the side of William Carlyle's dying bed knelt the Lady Isabel.
The time was at hand, and the boy was quite reconciled to his fate.
Merciful, indeed, is God to dying children! It is astonishing how very
readily, when the right means are taken, they may be brought to look
with pleasure, rather than fear, upon their unknown journey.

The brilliant hectic, type of the disease, had gone from his cheeks, his
features were white and wasted, and his eyes large and bright. His silky
brown hair was pushed off his temples, and his little hot hands were
thrown outside the bed.

"It won't be very long to wait, you know, will it, Madame Vine?"

"For what, darling?"

"Before they all come. Papa and mamma, and Lucy, and all of them."

A jealous feeling shot across her wearied heart. Was _she_ nothing to
him? "Do you not care that I should come to you, William?"

"Yes, I hope you will. But do you think we shall know _everybody_ in
Heaven? Or will it be only our own relations?"

"Oh, child! I think there will be no relation