to sleep that night, and when the morning sunbeams stole
into the room and lighted on the white curtains of his bed, he awoke with
a dull, desolate feeling of a great pain in his heart.

CHAPTER III.

ARTHUR'S MOTHER; OR, "SAFE IN THE ARMS OF JESUS."

Mrs. Vivyan's morning-room was on the pleasant sunny side of the house,
and was a very favourite retreat of her little boy. Indeed there was one
corner of it which he considered as especially his own. It was a little
sofa near the window, rather hidden in a recess, so that any one might be
lying there and not be seen. Perhaps this idea of privacy was one thing
which made Arthur like it; and then it was near the window, from which
he could see the garden and the birds; and he liked to watch the sun
sparkling on the pond, and making diamond showers of the fountain, which
sometimes he would persuade the gardener to do for him.

And now, with his new deep trouble weighing on his heart, he sought his
usual refuge. Nobody was in the room as Arthur and his companion, Hector,
came in, Arthur throwing himself wearily on the sofa, and Hector making
himself comfortable on the rug.

"Oh, dear!" groaned Arthur, after a while; "I don't think mother cares
very much. Come here, sir; do you care?"

Hector came, and obediently lay down near the sofa.

"Father doesn't care much, that I'm pretty sure of," continued Arthur;
"but I don't mind that so much. I wonder will mother miss me in India. I
wonder will you miss me, Hector, old boy. You ought, and you will too, I
expect. Do you think you will, Hector? Speak to me, do!"

But Hector only gravely wagged his tail.

"Oh, dear! I wish a great deal," said Arthur.

Just then there was a rustling noise at the door, and Arthur lay very
still and quiet as he saw that it was his mother who was coming in. He was
hidden on his sofa, so she did not see that he was there.

Presently she took her work from the table, and sat down in a low chair by
the fire; and Arthur watched her as she sat there, and gazed at her sweet,
gentle face.

He could not understand all that was there; but he could see enough to
make him very sorry that he had said "Mother doesn't care much."

There was such a look of patient sweetness there, and the eyes that she
now and then lifted up were deep with an expression of pain, only over it
all peace was shedding a softness and beauty that he could feel. He
watched her for a long time in silence, until at last a