han with
the tender reverence and hushed awe with which Ursula watched her
darling slipping as it were from her hold. So Mr. Egremont wandered
wretchedly about the lower rooms, while Mark and Annaple tried their
best for him through the long summer evening, darkening into night. By
and by Alwyn lifted his hand, turned his head, opened his lips, and
whispered, 'Hark, sister, she is singing.' The look of exceeding joy
beamed more and more over the pinched little face. 'She's come again,'
he said; and once more, 'Come to take Wyn to the dear Lord.' After
that there were very few more long breaths before little Alwyn
Egremont's spirit was gone to that unseen world, and only the fair
little frame left with that wondrous look of delighted recognition on
the face.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE UMBRELLA MAN.

Little Alwyn was laid to rest beside his mother in a beautiful summer
noontide. His father was not in a state to attend the funeral, and was
left under the care of Annaple, his own choice among those who offered
to stay and minister to him. It was his own wish that his daughter
should be to the last with her little brother. He had even said to her
that she had been a good sister, and his boy had been very fond of her,
and he would not keep her away on any account.

And, with a man's preference for a young and kindly woman, he chose
Annaple to be with him rather than Mr. Dutton, remembering likewise
that but for him the boy would have died in some workhouse, unknown and
unclaimed, or among the wretches who had caused his death. So Nuttie
had the comfort of Mr. Dutton's going down with her, as well as Mark,
and poor broken-down nurse, but not a word referring to the confession
of that happy evening had passed between them during the mournful
fortnight which had since elapsed.

May Condamine and her husband had made all as fair and consoling as
they could. There were white-robed children to bear the boy from the
churchyard gate, choristers sang hymns, the grave was lined with moss
and daisies, and white roses decked the little coffin and the mound.
There was as much of welcome and even of triumph as befitted the
innocent child, whose death had in it the element of testimony to the
truth. And Nuttie felt it, or would feel it by and by, when her spirit
felt less as if some precious thing had been torn up by the roots--to
be safe and waiting for her elsewhere, indeed, but that did not solace
the yearning longin