had
awakened a nervvous restlessness that awaited the return of morning with
impatience.

Morning came. He proceeded to the hospital and rang the bell. An aged
gentleman came to the door, and to his questions about Tommy being
there, answered in the affirmative, and called an attendant to show him
the ward in which the little sufferer lay. He followed the attendant,
and after ascending several flights of stairs and following a dark,
narrow passage nearly to its end, was shown into a small, single-room on
the right. The result was suggestive in the very atmosphere, which had
a singular effect upon the senses. The room, newly-whitewashed, was
darkened by a green curtain tacked over the frame of the window.
Standing near the window were two wooden-stools and a little table, upon
which burned the faint light of a small taper, arranged in a cup of oil,
and shedding its feeble flickers on the evidences of a sick-chamber.
There, on a little, narrow cot, lay the death-like form of his once
joyous companion, with the old nurse sitting beside him, watching his
last pulsation. Her arm encircled his head, while his raven locks curled
over his forehead, and shadowed the beauty of innocence even in death.

"Is he there? is he there?" inquired Manuel in a low tone. At the same
time a low, gurgling noise sounded in his ears. The nurse started to
her feet as if to inquire for what he came. "He is my companion-my
companion," said Manuel.

It was enough. The woman recognised the object of the little sufferer's
anxiety. "Ah! it is Manuel. How often he has called that name for the
last week!" said she.

He ran to the bedside and grasped his little fleshless hand as it lay
upon the white sheet, bathing his cold brow with kisses of grief. Life
was gone-the spirit had winged its way to the God who gave it. Thus
closed the life of poor Tommy Ward. He died as one resting in a calm
sleep, far from the boisterous sound of the ocean's tempest, with God's
love to shield his spirit in another and brighter world.

CONCLUSION.

IN a preceding chapter, we left the poor boy on the plantation of
Colonel Whaley, affected by a pulmonary disease, the seeds of which were
planted on the night he was confined in the guard-house, and the signs
of gradual decay evinced their symptoms. After Captain Williams--for
such was the name of the captain of the Three Sisters--left the
plantation, no person appeared to care for him, and on the second day h