Tell me, is it really true?"

"Yes, darling boy, I am really going away from you now, and soon,
too--very soon."

"What shall I do when you are gone, mamma? How shall I----" and here
Harry fairly broke down; he could speak no more.

"Don't cry, Harry; it makes me so sad. Don't you know I am going to
heaven, and there will be no pain there. I shall not cough any more.
You mustn't cry so. Tell me about school; I like to hear it all. I am
not going to die to-day, darling boy. We shall have a little longer
together. Tell me about the examination."

How Harry longed to pour his story out to her, of Egerton and Mr
Prichard. But he wouldn't do so now. He would bear it by himself. He
had run home so quickly, meaning to tell her all, and knowing she would
believe and pity him, and tell him what to do. But how could he
distress her now? So he only answered very quietly--

"I did the paper pretty well, mamma; I think; the examiner doesn't come
for two or three days; but--but--you won't be here--then," and back
came the memory of the fateful message, back came the fears at the
thought that he would be alone in the world then.

"How hot the room is," sighed Mrs Campbell. "It makes me feel so weak."

"Ah! the air isn't like it was at Malta; is it, mamma? You told me it
was so cool and sweet there; didn't you, mamma?"

"Yes, dear boy; but those cool winds have made me like this. It was
sitting out, in the evenings there, that first gave me my cough. But
it was God's will," she said half to herself, "and why should one look
to second causes?"

"Go and have your dinner, Harry dear or you will be late for school,"
she said to him.

"Must I go to school, mamma, and leave you?"

"Yes, dear," she answered, "it is far better for you to go, as usual.
They shall send for you if--if-- Go down now, dear," she added,
falteringly.

And when Harry hesitatingly left the room, Mrs Campbell turned her face
to the wall, and prayed to God, to guard the motherless child; to guard
the toilers on the sea; and then she thought of her girlhood, of her
bright, strong, healthy days; and then of her marriage in the ominous
Scotch mists, of the sojourning at Malta, of the journeyings to and
fro; and chiefly of her husband's love, and of her happy life; and from
the depths of her heart she thanked God for it all, and confessed that
it had indeed "been well."

CHAPTER VI.

INJURED INNOCENCE.

A surprise--Public opinion-