between intervals of heavy
oppression--half-unconscious wakefulness and rambling, incoherent
talk, sometimes of his street-life, of his broom, for which he felt
about with weak, aimless hands, of cold and hunger; and then he
would break out into murmuring complaints of Mrs. Skimmidge, when
forbidden words would slip out, and even then the child's look of
distress went to Lawrence's heart. But oftenest the wandering talk
was of the incidents of the last few weeks, and over and over came
the words--"See the King in his beauty."

In the morning Wikkey was quieter and perfectly sensible: but the
pinched look on his face, and the heavy labored breathing, told plainly
that he was sinking.

Hard as it had been for Lawrence to leave his "little lad," up to this
time he had been scrupulous in never allowing Wikkey to interfere with
his office duties; but now it seemed impossible to leave the child, who
clung feebly to him with a frightened whisper--

"Oh, don't go, Lawrence! p'raps the King will want me, and maybe I
shouldn't be so frightened if I kept looking at you."

No, he could not go; so writing a hurried line--"Cannot come to-day--the
boy I told you of is dying--the work shall be ready in time," he
dispatched it to the head clerk of his department. "Granby's Craze" had
at first excited a good deal of astonishment when it became known at the
office; but Lawrence had quietly discouraged any attempts at "chaff" on
the subject, and as time went on he used to be greeted by really warm
inquiries after "the little chap."

The hours passed slowly by. Reginald came and went as he could spare
time; sometimes he prayed in such short and simple language as Wikkey
could join in--and the expression of his face showed that he did
so--sometimes he knelt in silence, praying earnestly for the departing
soul, and for Lawrence in his mournful watch. As the day began to wane,
Reginald entering, saw that the end was near, and knelt to say the last
prayers; as he finished the pale March sun, struggling through the
clouds, sent a shaft of soft light into the room and touched Wikkey's
closed eyes. They opened with a smile, and raising himself in Lawrence's
arms, he leant forward with a look so eager and expectant, that with a
thrill of awe, almost amounting to terror, the young man whispered--

"What is it, Wikkey? Do you see anything?"

"Not yet--soon--it's coming," the boy murmured, without altering his
fixed gaze; and then for an inst