"Do not fear, uncle. I will not add to my mother's grief," was all he could reply.
We will not pry into that interview between mother and son when they first met; there is a grief too solemn for a stranger's eye.
Mr. Weston was still alive, and that was all that could be said. The doctors had pronounced his case beyond human skill, and had intimated that there were but a few hours for him on earth.
As George stood beside the bed of his dying father, the tears which had been long pent up came pouring thick and fast down his cheek.
"Don't give way to sorrow, George," said his father, in a low voice, for he had difficulty in speaking; "it will be only a little while before we meet again; for what is life but a vapour, which soon vanisheth away?"
"Oh, father, it is so sudden, so sudden!" sobbed George.
"Therefore, my boy, remember that at all times there is but a step between us and death; and if for us to live is Christ, then to die is gain. Make that your motto through life, my dear boy, 'For me to live is Christ.'"
That night the silver cord was loosed, the golden bowl was broken, and the spirit of Mr. Weston returned to God who gave it. "Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the death of His saints."
Never did a mother more realize the joy of possessing the unbounded love of an affectionate son, than did Mrs. Weston during those melancholy days between the death and the funeral of her husband, "Cheer up, dear mother," he would say; "God is the father of the fatherless, and the husband of the widow, and did not He say 'to die is gain'?"
George and Mr. Brunton followed the remains of the good man to their last resting-place; and then the body was lowered to the grave "in the sure and certain hope of a glorious resurrection."