is hard to lose
him."

"Oh, sir, he will be better off!" she wailed, choking down the sobs and
the emotion that arose threateningly. "We _can_ bear death; it is not
the worst parting that the earth knows. He will be quit of this cruel
world, sheltered in Heaven. I wish we were all there!"

A servant came to say that Mr. Carlyle's dinner was served, and he
proceeded to it with what appetite he had. When he returned to the sick
room the daylight had faded, and a solitary candle was placed where its
rays could not fall upon the child's face. Mr. Carlyle took the light in
his hand to scan that face again. He was lying sideways on the pillow,
his hollow breath echoing through the room. The light caused him to open
his eyes.

"Don't, papa, please. I like it dark."

"Only for a moment, my precious boy." And not for more than a moment
did Mr. Carlyle hold it. The blue, pinched, ghastly look was there yet.
Death was certainly coming on quick.

At that moment Lucy and Archibald came in, on their return from their
visit to Miss Carlyle. The dying boy looked up eagerly.

"Good-bye, Lucy," he said, putting out his cold, damp hand.

"I am not going out," replied Lucy. "We have but just come home."

"Good-bye, Lucy," repeated he.

She laid hold of the little hand then, leaned over, and kissed him.
"Good-bye, William; but indeed I am not going out anywhere."

"I am," said he. "I am going to Heaven. Where's Archie?"

Mr. Carlyle lifted Archie on to the bed. Lucy looked frightened, Archie
surprised.

"Archie, good-bye; good-bye, dear, I am going to Heaven; to that bright,
blue sky, you know. I shall see mamma there, and I'll tell her that you
and Lucy are coming soon."

Lucy, a sensitive child, broke into a loud storm of sobs, enough to
disturb the equanimity of any sober sick room. Wilson hastened in at
the sound, and Mr. Carlyle sent the two children away, with soothing
promises that they should see William in the morning, if he continued
well enough.

Down on her knees, her face buried in the counterpane, a corner of it
stuffed into her mouth that it might help to stifle her agony, knelt
Lady Isabel. The moment's excitement was well nigh beyond her strength
of endurance. Her own child--his child--they alone around its death-bed,
and she might not ask or receive a word of comfort, of consolation!

Mr. Carlyle glanced at her as he caught her choking sobs just as
he would have glanced at any other attentive governess-