And, all this while, poor Harry sat with his face pressed closely against the window-pane; and his papa and mamma, apparently unheeding him, sat talking in the far dim corner of the room, while ever anon her great sobs broke the train of comforting words her husband strove to utter.
Presently, he got up, moved to the window, and without saying a word, took Harry's hand and led him across the room to his mother's side. Then his faltering lips said:
"Harry, my boy, mamma is going away soon—before I come back;—I shall not see her again."
"Not see her again, papa?" cried Harry in amazement. "And why is mamma going away, with her cough so bad, too?"
"Mamma's cough won't trouble her long, my boy. You'll take care of her for me, won't you, Harry? and see her safe off on her journey?"
He spoke very quietly now; but if he had not used those ambiguous sentences, he would have broken down, he knew.
And then the good-bye was said. He kissed Harry tenderly, and then gathered his weeping wife to his breast. And with an earnest "God guard you!" that well-nigh seemed to break the bursting heart from whence the words arose, he moved quickly from the room. So it was all over now! The long good-bye had been said.
"Take care of her and the boy, Mrs Valentine," he said to the farmer's wife, as she came hurrying up from the orchard to see him before he left, "and God will reward you. It will not be for long, I fancy. The boy must stay with you till I come back."
"I will, I will sir; bless her dear heart!" the farmer's wife cried, while the tears started to her eyes. "Poor soul, poor soul!" she murmured after him, as he passed bravely down the lane, villagewards.
And there, in the little farm by the church, sat the pale wife weeping over her wondering boy, while the shadows of the summer night stole ghost-like over the lands, till the window was but a faint dim square in the sad darkness that was within.