oachful train. Once more we sat together
by the widowed hearth, reading: once more we stood upon the rocky
edge of Pedn-glas and looked into the splendours of the summer sunset
"for father's ship:" once more we knelt together in Polkimbra Church,
and prayed for his safe return: once more I heard that sweet, low
voice--once more? Ah, never, never more!

Uncle Loveday stole into the room on tip-toe, and looked at her; then
turned and asked--

"Has she spoken yet?"

"No."

He was about to leave when the lips parted again, and this time she
spoke--

"He is coming, coming. Hush! that is his step!"

The dark eyes were ablaze with expectation: the pale cheek aglow with
hope. I bent down over the bed, for her voice was very low.

"He is coming, I know it. Listen! Oh, husband, come quicker,
quicker!"

Alas! poor saint, the step you listen for has gone before, and is
already at the gate of heaven.

"He is here! Oh, husband, husband, you have come for me!"

A moment she sat up with arms outstretched, and glory in her face;
then fell back, and the arms that caught her were the arms of God.

After the first pang of bereavement had spent itself, Uncle Loveday
got me to bed, and there at last I slept. The very bewilderment of
so much sorrow enforced sleep, and sleep was needed: so that, worn
out with watching and excitement, I had not so much as a dream to
trouble me. It was ten o'clock in the morning when I awoke, and saw
my uncle sitting beside the bed. Another sun was bright in the
heavens outside: the whole world looked so calm and happy that my
first impulse was to leap up and run, as was my custom, to mother's
room. Then my eyes fell on Uncle Loveday, and the whole dreadful
truth came surging into my awakened brain. I sank back with a low
moan upon the pillow.

Uncle Loveday, who had been watching me, stepped to the bed and took
my hand.

"Jasper, boy, are you better?"

After a short struggle with my grief, I plucked up heart to answer
that I was.

"That's a brave boy. I asked, because I have yet to tell you
something. I am a doctor, you know, Jasper, and so you may take my
word when I say there is no good in what is called 'breaking news.'
It is always best to have the pain over and done with; at least,
that's my experience. Now, my dear boy, though God knows you have
sorrow enough, there is still something to tell: and if you are the
boy I take you for, it is best to let you know at once."