Jessie could not speak; she was trying with all her might to keep back her tears; so I said,—
"You mean that little gem of Mrs. Hemans—'Child Amid the Flowers at Play.'"
"Yes," he replied, "that is it. Won't you sing it for me?"
It really was heroic, the way that poor girl struggled with herself and forced back her composure. She turned her face a little from the light and began to sing; her voice was very low and tremulous, but I never heard it sound so sweet; Bosworth lay back on his pillow and listened with a happy smile.
"Thank you," he said, when she finished; "I can sleep now—you were very kind to come."
He tried to take her hand, said a few more broken words, and then we went away. I saw that Jessie could endure nothing more. Old Mrs. Bosworth detected it too; she must have felt for the girl, and was grateful to her for that visit. She did not accompany us down-stairs, and I was glad to make our farewell as short as possible.
The moment we were out of the house, Jessie gave way completely, and sobbed and wept as I never before saw her.
"Do you think he will die, Aunt Matty?" she asked.
"I do not; he is certainly better."
"But he looks dreadfully; I never saw anybody altered so much."