"When--when did mother die, sir?" he asked.
The words were long in coming. It seemed to him a hard question to ask.
"An hour ago. I saw a change come over her, and Mr. Gribble ran for the doctor." Alfred remembered seeing Gribble junior tear along, struggling with his coat, and it was another sting to him that a stranger should have performed his duty. "When the doctor came she had passed away."
"What did she say? Did she ask for me?"
"She did not speak; she was unconscious."
"And she died without a word to you or Lily, grandfather? without a thought of me?"
"Who can tell her thoughts? Her mind may have been awake. She passed away in her sleep--peacefully, thank God! Her life has not been a happy one; and it is God's mercy that she was spared in her last moments the pain of seeing you as you are. It would have recalled her bitterest memories."
"I am better now, grandfather. May I see her?"
"Yes. Lily, my darling!" and the old man took her in his arms and kissed her; "you must go to bed--you are tired."
But she clung to him, and entreated to be allowed to sit up with them.