. But day by day it became more apparent to all that Harry's end
was hastening. The fever went away, but there seemed to be no power to
rally in the little worn-out frame of the child. His father, for a
little while, spoke hopefully of a change of air, and the sea-side; but
he could not long so cheat himself with false hopes. The restlessness
and irritability, which they had said to one another were hopeful signs,
passed away. His smiles were more languid and constrained, and he soon
failed to recognise the anxious, loving friends who ministered to his
wants.

Before this the mother's strength had quite failed; and the father,
unused to the sight of suffering, shrank from looking on the last agony
of his child. Through all his illness the little boy had clung to
Christie--never quite at rest, even in the arms of his mother, unless
his Christie was near. Her voice had soothed him, her hands had
ministered to his comfort, her care had been lavished on him, through
all those lingering days and nights. And now it was Christie who met
his last smile and listened to his last murmured "Good-night!" Yes, it
was Christie who closed his eyes at last, and straightened his limbs in
their last repose. She helped to robe him for the grave, and to lay him
in his little coffin; and all the time there was coming and going
through her mind a verse she had learned long ago--

"Now, like a dew-drop shrined
Within a crystal stone,
Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove;
Safe in the arms of Jesus,
The everlasting One!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.

And now a sad silence fell on the household. The children were not to
be brought home for some time, the doctor said; and their mother was not
able to go to them; so Christie was left to the almost unbroken quiet of
her forsaken nursery. She needed rest more than she was aware, and sank
into a state of passive indifference to all things which would have
alarmed herself had not her kind friend, Mrs Greenly, been there to
insist that she should be relieved of care till her over-tasked strength
should be in some measure restored. In those very quiet hours, thoughts
of home came to her only as a vague and shadowy remembrance. The events
of the winter, and even the more recent sufferings of the last month,
seemed like a dream to her. Dearly as she had loved her little charges,
she was hardly conscious of regret at their loss. It seemed like
something that had