"You can come in now, Master Harry."
"Mrs Valentine, is mamma dying? What can I do? She mustn't die. Can't Mr Bromley do anything for her?" cried Harry.
"No, dear boy. Mr Bromley can't do anything for her, poor dear; nor any one else either, for the matter of that. He can only make her easier for the time, like."
"But will mamma die before papa comes home?"
"She may die very—very soon," sobbed Mrs Valentine.
By this time they were at the door, and Mrs Valentine left Harry to run quietly upstairs to his mother's room. He found her in bed, looking fearfully white, saving two red hectic spots glowing in her wasted cheeks. Her hands were dry and hot; and when she began to speak, a fit of coughing made utterance impossible. Harry sat by the bedside, and burst out crying. After a few minutes, Mrs Campbell said in a low voice, but so cheerfully—
"Well, Harry dear, how did the examination go off?"
"It's not over, mamma; and, please, don't talk about that. Are you really going to die, mamma? Tell me, is it really true?"
"Yes, darling boy, I am really going away from you now, and soon, too—very soon."
"What shall I do when you are gone, mamma? How shall I——" and here Harry fairly broke down; he could speak no more.