The eyes are bright and clear, the shadow of death has not yet dimmed
their light. They turn slowly, very slowly, and, just glancing at the
toy-strewn table, rest upon his brother's face. Oh! what is that look
within them that chills the warm life-current, and makes him cold and
shivering in the heat of that summer day, as the sick child feebly says:

'You may have them all, _all_, Charley; I sha'n't never want them any
more.'

'You've hardly looked at them at all, Harry,' quavers the young voice in
reply, bravely trying to continue the subject. 'You don't know how
handsome they are. The nicest ones, the very nicest ones Betty bought
you! Poor Betty! she has done nothing but cry since you've been
sick--cry, and buy you presents. She says when you get well, Harry--'
and here the brave little voice, that has been tremulous and tear-laden
all along, breaks down entirely, and he puts up his hand to check the
tears that are running down his face. There are no tears in those other
eyes looking into his; the mists of death are gathering within them. He
cannot see the tear-wet face so plainly now, but he feebly strokes the
hand that lies against his own, and says, in a weaker voice, pausing now
and then for breath:

'Poor brother, dear brother! Don't cry, Charley, don't cry! You must
tell Betty not to cry. Poor Betty! I haven't seen her once since I've
been sick. And poor mamma'--the faint voice, forgetful of its weakness,
grows stronger for a moment, and dwells on that name with measureless
compassion--'poor, poor, _poor_ mamma! I don't feel afraid of ma any
more, and I want to see her. I DO so _much_ want to see her!
Where _is_ ma, Charley?'

There is a movement in the lower part of the room, and a bent form comes
tottering forward, with hair hanging wildly about a haggard, despairing,
woeworn face. Her hands are outstretched in piteous supplication.

'Here I am,' a voice choked with sobs makes answer, 'Here's your poor,
miserable, guilty mother, Harry. O Harry! my sins have barred me out
from the heaven you are entering; say you forgive me before we part
forever. Oh! my darling, it is the last time I shall ever ask it; give
me one kiss before you go!' He smiled as only the dying _can_ smile, and
stretched out his feeble arms. 'He smiles upon me, he forgives!'
shrieked the half-demented creature. 'O God! most merciful! Thou hast
not quite forsaken me!' and with a step forward, and a gesture of
embrace, the hapless being