"Shall I go back to her by-and-by?" asked Tom piteously.
"No, dear," answered his father tenderly; "she is gone away for a little while."
"She? Gone away and left me?"
"God sent for her, my child."
Tom was silent; at last he said softly:
"Will she come back, papa?"
"No, my dear; we shall go to be with her, but she will never come back."
Then, overpowered by the expression in words of the dreadful certainty, he clasped his arms tighter round the frail form, and deep sobs of agony broke from him.
Tom needed no further telling, and such an anguish swept over him, that afterwards, he wondered it had not killed him.
At first he could only wail out, "Mamma, mamma!" But by-and-by, he became aware that his father's grief must be as great as his, and, used latterly to think of others, he at last checked his wild sobs, and began to quiet his quailing heart. After a few minutes, he left off crying, and put his thin little hand up to his father's face.