ys went on things
gradually became much clearer.

Now Austin, in spite of his utter indifference to, or indeed aversion
from, theological religion, had always loved his Sundays. To him they
were as days of heaven upon earth, and in them he appeared to take an
instinctive delight, as though the very atmosphere of the day filled
him with spiritual aspirations, and thoughts which belonged not to
this world. Above all, he loved Sunday evenings, which appeared to him
a season hallowed in some special way, when all high and pure
influences were felt in their greatest intensity. And now another
Sunday came round, and, as had been the case all through his illness,
he felt and knew by instinct what day it was. He lay quite still, as
the distant chime of the church bells was wafted through the air,
faint but just audible in the silent room. Aunt Charlotte smiled
tenderly at him through her tears; she was going to church, poor soul,
to pray for his recovery, though knowing quite well that what she
called his recovery was beyond hope. Austin shot a brilliant smile at
her in return, and Aunt Charlotte rushed out of the room choking.

The day drew to its close, the darkness gathered, and Austin, who had
been suffering considerably during the afternoon, was now easier. At
about seven o'clock his aunt stole softly in, unable to keep away, and
looked at him. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be asleep.

"How has he been this afternoon?" she asked of Lubin in an undertone.

"Seemed to be sufferin' a bit about two hour ago, but nothing more 'n
usual," said Lubin. "Then he got easier and sank asleep, quite
quiet-like. He's breathin' regular enough."

"He doesn't look worse--there's even a little colour in his cheeks,"
observed Aunt Charlotte, as she watched the sleeping boy. "He's in
quite a nice, natural slumber. If nursing could only bring him round!"

"I'd nurse him all my life for that matter," replied Lubin huskily,
standing on the other side of the bed.

"I know you would, Lubin," cried Aunt Charlotte. "You've been
goodness itself to my poor darling. What wouldn't I do--what wouldn't
we all do--to save his precious life!"

"Is he waking up?" whispered Lubin, bending over. "Nay--just turning
his head a bit to one side. He's comfortable enough for the time
being. If it wasn't for them crooel pains as seizes him----"

"Ah, but they're only the symptoms of the disease!" sighed Aunt
Charlotte, mournfully. "And the doctor