, and now poor father will follow him. I have
never seen him look so ill. David and he were everything to each other."

"Hush, Theo," returned Elizabeth quietly, "we must give him time. It
has been a great shock. We must not let him know that we are anxious."
And, forgetful of her own trouble, Elizabeth ministered to him with
filial devotion. No one else could induce him to take food. She would
bring the cup of soup, or the glass of wine, and sit beside him as he
took it; or lure him gently to talk to her of David--of his childhood
or boyhood. "No one does him so much good as Miss Templeton," Dr.
Hewlitt observed one day to Dinah. "I confess I was a bit anxious about
him for two days--he has a weak heart, and I did not quite like his
look; but your sister has brought him round."

Elizabeth smiled happily when Dinah told her this.

"I am glad Dr. Hewlitt said that, Die. I do love to take care of him;
it is the only thing I can do for David now."

"Father," she said to him one day--for when they were alone she always
called him by that name--"I think you have still some work to do before
your rest time comes. You are getting better, are you not?"

Then he looked at her with sad wistfulness.

"I think I am not worthy to go yet," he returned humbly. "I must do my
Master's work as long as He gives me strength to do it. Oh, Elizabeth,
they are all there--all but Theo and I--David's mother, and Alice, and
Magdalene, and our little Felicia, and now David has joined them in
that heavenly mansion."

"But you will go too, dear, when the Master says, 'Go up higher,'"
whispered Elizabeth.

Then the slow tears of age gathered in Mr. Carlyon's eyes. "Yes--yes, I
know it; but the flesh is weak, Elizabeth. Pray for me that I may have
patience;" and then he rested his gray head against her as she knelt
beside him, as though the burden of that sorrow were too heavy for him
to bear.

Malcolm was in the churchyard that sunshiny April day when they buried
David in the tranquil spot that he had chosen for his last
resting-place. Not only the people of Rotherwood, but friends from
Staplegrove and Earlsfield, and from the villages for miles round, were
gathered there--for the young clergyman had been much beloved. Very
near the newly-made grave was a tiny grassy mound where little Kit lay;
and at Malcolm's side stood a small, shabbily-dressed man, with pale
watery blue eyes and an air of extreme dejection, nervously fumbling
with the