sely watching his attempts to say it. In a little while,
he added:

'Ask her if she has seen the children.'

Mortimer could not understand this, neither could Jenny herself, until
he added:

'Ask her if she has smelt the flowers.'

'Oh! I know!' cried Jenny. 'I understand him now!' Then, Lightwood
yielded his place to her quick approach, and she said, bending over the
bed, with that better look: 'You mean my long bright slanting rows of
children, who used to bring me ease and rest? You mean the children who
used to take me up, and make me light?'

Eugene smiled, 'Yes.'

'I have not seen them since I saw you. I never see them now, but I am
hardly ever in pain now.'

'It was a pretty fancy,' said Eugene.

'But I have heard my birds sing,' cried the little creature, 'and I have
smelt my flowers. Yes, indeed I have! And both were most beautiful and
most Divine!'

'Stay and help to nurse me,' said Eugene, quietly. 'I should like you to
have the fancy here, before I die.'

She touched his lips with her hand, and shaded her eyes with that same
hand as she went back to her work and her little low song. He heard the
song with evident pleasure, until she allowed it gradually to sink away
into silence.

'Mortimer.'

'My dear Eugene.'

'If you can give me anything to keep me here for only a few minutes--'

To keep you here, Eugene?'

'To prevent my wandering away I don't know where--for I begin to be
sensible that I have just come back, and that I shall lose myself
again--do so, dear boy!'

Mortimer gave him such stimulants as could be given him with safety
(they were always at hand, ready), and bending over him once more, was
about to caution him, when he said:

'Don't tell me not to speak, for I must speak. If you knew the
harassing anxiety that gnaws and wears me when I am wandering in those
places--where are those endless places, Mortimer? They must be at an
immense distance!'

He saw in his friend's face that he was losing himself; for he added
after a moment: 'Don't be afraid--I am not gone yet. What was it?'

'You wanted to tell me something, Eugene. My poor dear fellow, you
wanted to say something to your old friend--to the friend who has always
loved you, admired you, imitated you, founded himself upon you, been
nothing without you, and who, God knows, would be here in your place if
he could!'

'Tut, tut!' said Eugene with a tender glance as the other put his hand
before his face. 'I am not wor