n--confirmed by Thee.' I'm afraid I'm too weak to
talk any more. O, what a long, long good-bye it will be--for years, and
years, and years; to think that when you have gone out of the room we
shall never meet in life again, and I shall never hear your pleasant
voices. O Flip, you make me cry against my will by crying so. It's
hard to say, but it must be said at last. Good-bye, God bless you, with
all my heart." He laid his hand on their heads as they bent over him,
and once mere whispering the last "Good-bye," turned away his face, and
made the pillow wet with his warm tears.

The sound of his mother's sobs attracted him. "Ah, mother, darling, we
are alone now; you will stay with me till I die. I am tired."

"I feared that their visit would excite you too much, my child."

"O no, mother; I couldn't bear to die without seeing them, I loved them
so much. Mother, will you sing to me a _little_--sing me my favourite
hymn."

She began in a low, sweet voice,--

"My God, my Father, while I stray,
Far from my home in life's rough way,
O teach me from my heart to say,
Thy will be done,
Thy will be--"

She stopped, for sobs choked her voice. "I am sorry I cannot, Johnny.
But I cannot bear to think how soon we must part."

"Only for a short time, mother, a short time. I said a long time just
now, but _now_ it looks to me quite short, and I shall be with God. I
see it all now so clearly. Do you remember those lines--

"`The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.'

"How true they are! Oh, darling mother, how very, very good you have
always been to me, and I pay you with all my heart's whole love." He
pressed upon her lips a long, long kiss, and said, "Good-night, darling
mother. I am falling asleep, I think."

His arms relaxed their loving embrace, and glided down from her
shoulder; his head fell back; the light faded from his soft and gentle
eyes, and he was asleep.

Rightly he said "asleep"--the long sleep that is the sweetest and
happiest in that it knows no waking here; the long sweet sleep that no
evil dreams disturb; the sleep after which the eyes open upon the light
of immortality, and the weary heart rests upon the bosom of its God.
Yes, Daubeny had fallen asleep.

God help thee, widowed mother; the daily endearments, the looks of
living affection, the light of the boy's presence, are for thee and for
thy home no more. Th