"The squire—trust the squire," he murmured. "He loves you as I loved your mother." And then, with a smile of peace, he added, "The squire said he would take care of you all."
I was too much awed to speak, but I put my lips gently to his hand. It was quite cold, and a shiver ran through me.
His eyes were closed, and I drew my arm as well as I could from his grasp, and flew to the door.
In a moment I was in the room where mother and Joyce lay resting together; my presence was enough to tell them what was the matter.
When I got back to father, his eyes were open again—fixed on that picture opposite to him.
"Now we see through a veil darkly," he murmured. "Ah, Camille, I have done what I could;" and then, "God has a home of his own for the little ones."
He was wandering.
"Laban!" cried mother, with a low cry.
A smile broke through that gray shadow, as light had burst through the purple clouds when the sun rose.