like to know if you have formed a decision to be a noble,
good, and upright man."

"You are not going to die," said the youth in a half-frightened
tone, "you will be better soon, I hope."

"No," she said, "I am slowly but steadily declining;" then she added
in a very affectionate tone: "Will you promise me, Frank, that you
will always strive to do what is right?"

"Mother," replied the son, his voice quivering with emotion: "I will
be good."

Neither of them said another word for a few minutes. Their hearts
were too full. Affectionate love, grief and resignation were filling
their souls.

Soon, the father entered and the family retired.

Next day Mrs. Mather's prophecies were fulfilled. She felt much
worse and stayed in bed. In less than a week, she was dead and
buried.

Thus deprived of his mother, Frank Mathers felt intensely lonely. He
suppressed his grief as much as possible, but it could be seen that
he suffered.

He had his father, 'tis true, but Mr. Mathers was a man of a gloomy
temperament. But a young man of nineteen ought not to be attached to
his mother's pinafore! The house seemed so empty, it seemed quite
large now, a roomy house with no furniture. The air he breathed was
not perfumed with the sweet breath of love as it was wont to be.

He grew melancholy. He had never been of a very bright temperament,
and the life of self-sacrifice which he had hitherto led, had not
helped him towards being cheerful.

Besides, there was no one to cheer him now, no kind word to spur him
on. "Ah! life without love," he sighed, "life without love is
hardly worth living."

From bad he went to worse. He almost ceased to eat. He lost a great
deal of his former activity and was often absent-minded. His
employers noticed this, for he often made false entries in the
books.

One morning, the manager of the bank thought fit to speak to him. "I
cannot make out what ails you," he said, "but you will have to be
more careful in the future."

"Pull yourself up, Mr. Mathers, try and take more interest in your
work, or I shall feel obliged to dispense with your services
altogether."

"I must try," answered Frank. "I _will_ try, Sir."

And try he did, but all to no purpose.

A cloud seemed to hang over him; he was in a state of lethargy. "Am
I going mad?" he said to himself more than once. No! he was not
insane, not yet at any rate; he simply took no interest in life.
Nothing seemed to distract him; he cared for not