There was no one else in the room at the moment but my mother, who sat at the foot of the bed with something in her hand for Aleck. It was not until I had advanced nearly to the bed that, with tear-blinded eyes, I could distinguish my cousin's face. It was so deadly pale that I started at the sight; but though pale and wan he was perfectly conscious, and as I drew near he whispered softly,—
"I'm so glad you've come, Willie—I wanted to see you, and wish you good-bye." There was a pause, and then more faintly he continued,—"I want to be quite sure you've forgiven me, Willie;—Jesus has; I've asked him."
I bent forward and kissed the white face that lay so quiet and still, struggling to keep down my sobs, though I felt as if my heart would break, and longing to be able to say but one word, that Aleck might know it was I who asked his forgiveness, but longing in vain.
"You forgive me quite, Willie," murmured Aleck again.
WILLIE AT ALECK'S BED SIDE.
But at the first attempt to speak, I broke down utterly, with such a burst of pent-up grief, that to control it was impossible, and I was hurried quickly out of the room, lest my emotion should be injurious to Aleck; my mother herself almost carrying me down-stairs, and sorely divided between the desire to stay and comfort me, and at the same time to remain at her post up-stairs with my cousin.