"Father! what day is it?"
It was like a voice out of the long-dead past. Mr. Hardy, sitting by the side of the bed, replied quietly, while his heart beat quickly:
"This is Friday night, dear child."
Another question came, uttered in the same strange voice:
"Father, how many more days are left for you?"
"To-morrow and Sunday."
The voice came again:
"I shall go with you then."
The eyes closed and the form became motionless as before.
It was very quiet in the room at the close of Robert Hardy's fifth day.