, and her
diligence in diving deeper into his favorite works daily increased.

In her own home circle her heart had room to expand its choicest
tendrils. A noble boy three summers old was prattling at her feet, and
all the demands of fashion could not make her forget a mother's
duties. Still they were only the duties that pertained to his temporal
welfare, for the flame of devotion had smoldered to ashes on the
hearthstone of her heart.

The rain was dashing against the closed shutters one November night as
an anxious group gathered in Mrs. Allen's chamber. They were standing
on either side of a beautiful rosewood crib, whose hangings of azure
gauze were closely drawn aside. There lay a little form tossing and
restless, his little face and throat seemed scarlet as they rested on
the snowy pillow, and his little hand moved restlessly to and fro, as
if vainly striving to cool the burning heat. It was the mother's hand
that tirelessly bathed the scarlet brow and burning limbs. Servants
were constantly in waiting, but no hand but her husband's was allowed
to take her place.

"Do you think there is hope, doctor?" was the question she longed to
ask, but could not frame it into words. It came at length from her
husband's lips. The answer was only a straw to grasp at.

"He is in a very critical state, indeed. If I had been at home when he
was first taken ill I think the fever would not have reached such a
height. But everything almost depends on the first steps. We must do
what we can now to make up for lost hours."

But all that the best medical skill could do proved useless. The
little sufferer lingered through the long night watch, and when the
morning dawned seemed once more to know them all. "My mamma," were the
first words which fell from his lips, sending a thrill of joy to all
their hearts. It was bliss to see the smile of recognition light once
more those sweet blue eyes, and the parents grasped each other's hand
in silent joy. The old physician alone looked grave and sorrowful. The
little light was fast fading out, and this was its dying flicker.

"Mamma, please take Bertie," said the little one, holding up the
dimpled hands. Very tenderly was he lifted up and laid in her arms.

"Good night, papa, it's most dark now; Bertie is going to sleep."

His mother's tearful face bent over him, and as the strange hand of
Death was laid upon his heart-strings he clasped her closely about the
neck, as if she were a refug