ed arms of the
little figure cowering in a corner half hid by the window curtain, see
that other figure lying at its feet, so livid and motionless, so
breathless, with the deathly face upturned, and the long brown lashes,
still wet with tears, resting on the marble cheeks.

'O God! too late! too late!' The strong agony of that father's heart
bursts forth from his bleached lips in that wild, irrepressible cry. He
seizes the tottering form. He shakes it fiercely: 'Woman! fiend! blot on
the name of mother! you have _killed_ my boy!'

That momentary burst of passion past, he leaves the hapless creature to
her witless mumbling, and, with great waves of anguish rolling over his
soul, the broken-hearted father kneels beside his boy.

'Not dead! oh, thank God! not dead.'

There is a slight throbbing motion of the heart, a faint, scarcely
perceptible pulsation at the wrist. They raise the senseless form from
off the floor. Up to his room they bear him; softly on his little bed
they lay him--that little bed from which he is never more to rise.
Gentle footsteps glide noiselessly about the room, loving eyes are bent
above him, and tears fall upon the upturned face. Long days go and come,
fragrant sunny days, bright with the bloom of summer, each day one less
of earth, one nearer heaven. The loving watchers know it, and ever and
anon there are sounds of smothered weeping there. But there are no
answering tears from eyes soon to look on immortal things, for on the
passing soul dawns a vision of a home beyond the shadow and the blight,
where, in meadows fragrant with immortal flowers, the _Great Shepherd
feedeth His sheep_, and, as He tenderly leads them beside the still
waters, gathers the _lambs_ to His bosom. In that clime glows the glory
of unfading light, the bloom of undying beauty. Henceforth the beauty
and the light of this transitory sphere seem wan and cold, and the
fading things of earth grow worthless in the dying eyes, and the tranced
soul longs to be gone, yet bides its time with patient sweetness.
Patient amid all his pain, no groan escapes the parched lips, no
complaining murmur. Bearing all his sufferings with meek endurance,
quiet and very thoughtful he lies upon his little bed, smiling placidly
upon those about him--grateful, very grateful for their love and care;
watching with musing eyes the long hours through the changes of the day
on the sky as seen from his window--gray dawn melting into morning,
morning in