ive article, he
requested me to accept of as a token of affection from him. I promised
faithfully to obey all his wishes should his sad forebodings prove
true, yet I could not believe he was to die. At the close of our
conversation he seemed fatigued, I arranged his pillows and gave him a
cooling drink, and I was soon aware by his regular breathing that he
slept soundly. As he lay there wrapped in repose my memory ran backward
over all the happy time I had spent with him; he was the only one
outside of Mr. Baynard's family with whom I was at all intimate, and the
bitter tears which I could not repress, as I gazed upon his changed
features, made me sensible how dear he had become to me. A hasty letter
was written next morning to Mr. Dalton, informing him of his son's
illness, and of his urgent request that he should hasten to him as soon
as possible; but poor Robert lived not to see his father again. The next
day after the letter was written a sudden change for the worse took
place in his disease, and it soon became evident that he could live but
a few hours. He expressed a wish that I should remain with him to the
last, and before another morning dawned Robert Dalton had passed from
among the living. A short time before his death, his eyes sought my
face, and his lips moved as though he wished to speak to me; I bowed my
ear to catch his words, as he said in a voice which was audible to me
only: "When my father arrives remember all I said to you, and tell him I
died happy, feeling that all will be well with me." After this he spoke
no more, and an hour later he died with my hand clasped in his own.
When, two days after, his father arrived, and found that he was indeed
dead, his grief was heart-rending to witness. Never before did I see such
an agony of grief as was depicted upon his countenance as he bowed
himself over the lifeless body of his only son. As soon as circumstances
permitted, I repeated to Mr. Dalton the conversation Robert had held
with me a short time before his death. Among other things I gave him
his watch which he had entrusted to my care. He pressed me to keep the
watch, saying, "From the frequent mention my son made of you in his
letters, I almost feel that I know you well, and knowing the strong
friendship he entertained for you, I beg of you to accept of his watch
for his sake as well as mine, and should we never meet again, bear in
mind that I shall ever remember you with gratitude and affection." It