ng star was up, it seemed to tremble
more than usual; he knew he should not see it set, it would go out in
its place, because the dawn came so early.

He knew it was Emily. "Only one thing could have brought her," he said
in his dull tone, and aloud. "The end is come."

But no, she was at his side. Oh what a sweet tone! So clear and
thrilling, and not sad.

"The darling is just as usual, and I have brought you some coffee; drink
it, dear John, and then come in and take some rest."

"No," he answered in a low tone, husky and despairing.

She made out that he was sitting on the wooden bench his boys had carved
for him. It had only been placed there a few days, and was finished with
an elbow, on which he was leaning his arm. It was too low to give him
much support. She came to his side, the few trembling stars in the sky
gave scarcely any light. Standing thus, and looking at the same view
that was before him, she saw the lighted windows of the children,
Johnnie's, little Bertram's, and Anastasia's. Three or four stars
trembling near the horizon were southing fast. One especially bright and
flickering was about, it was evident, in a few minutes to set; as far as
she could see, John was gazing at it. She hoped he was not linking with
it any thought of the little tender life so likely also to set. She
spoke to him again in tones of gentle entreaty, "Take this cup, dear
John."

"I cannot," he answered.

"Cannot!" she said, and she stooped nearer, but the dimness hid his
face.

"No; and something within me seems to be failing."

There was that in the trembling frame and altered voice that impressed
her strangely. What was failing? Had the springs of life been so
strained by suffering that there was danger lest they should break?

Emily did not know; but everything seemed to change for her at that
moment. It was little to her that he should discover her love for him
now; but he would not, or, if he did, he was past caring, and he had
been almost forgotten by those about him, though his danger was as great
as that of any. He had been left to endure alone. She lifted the cup to
his lips, and thought of nothing, and felt nothing, but the one supreme
desire to console and strengthen.

"She will die, Emily," he found voice enough to say when the cup was
empty; "and I cannot survive her."

"Yes, you can; but I hope she will not die, dear John. Why should she
live so long, to die after all?"

She leaned toward him, and