the study where he knew that the rest
would be, and in another moment his arm was round his mother's neck,
while Cyril and Violet and little Frank drew close and wept silently
beside them both. But still Julian knew not or would not know the full
truth, and at last he drew up courage to ask the question which had been
so long trembling on his lips--

"Is there no hope, mother, no hope?"

"Don't you know then, my boy? Your father is--"

"Not _dead_," said Julian, in a hollow voice. "Oh, mother, mother,
mother."

His head drooped on her shoulder the news fell on him like a horrible
blow, and, stunned as he was with weariness and anxiety, all sense and
life flowed from him for a time.

The necessity for action and the consolation of others are God's blessed
remedies to lull, during the first intolerable moments, the poignancy of
bereavement. Mrs Home had to soothe her children, and to see that they
took needful food and rest; and she watched by the bedside of her
younger boys till the silken swathe of a soft boyish sleep fell on their
eyes, red and swollen with many tears. Then she saw Violet to bed, and
at last sat down alone with her eldest son, who by a great prayerful
effort aroused himself at last to a sense of his position.

He took her hand in his, and said in a low whisper, "Mother, let me see
him?"

"Not now, dearest Julian; wait till to-morrow, for our sakes."

"What was the cause of death, mother?"

"Disease of the heart;" and once more the widow's strength seemed likely
to give way. But this time it was Julian's turn to whisper, "God's will
be done."

Next morning Mrs Home, with Julian and Violet, entered the room of
death. Flowers were scattered on the bed, and on that face, calm as
marble yet soft as life, the happy wondering smile had not yet even died
away. And there Julian received from his mother a slip of paper, on
which his father's dying hand had traced the last messages of undying
love and when they had left him there alone, he opened and read these
words, written with weak and wavering pen--

"My own dearest boy, in this world we shall never meet again. But I
die happy, Julian, for my trust is in God, who cares for the widow and
the fatherless. And you, Julian, will take my place with Violet,
Cyril, and dear Frankie--I need say nothing of a mother to such a son.
God bless you, my own boy. Be brave, and honest, and pure, and God
will be with you. Your dying fathe