“Be comforted, ma’am,” said the nurse, wiping away her own tears. “He’s a dear good lamb, and he’ll come to hisself soon afore he goes off.”
“Must he die, then?” she asked, trembling in every limb.
“Hush, good lady! we never know what God may please to do in His mercy. We must bow to His gracious will, ma’am, as you knows well, I don’t doubt. He’s fitter to die than many a grown man is, poor child, and that’s a blessing. I wish though he wasn’t a repeating of that there heathenish Latin.”
But Daubeny’s voice was still humming fragments of Horace lines, sometimes with eager concentration, and then with pauses at parts where his memory failed, at which he would grow distressed and anxious—
“‘Quid Rhoetus... quid Rhoetus evulsisque truncis, Enceladus.’
“Oh, I cannot learn this; I think I’m getting more stupid every day. Enceladus—”
“If you love me, Johnny, give it up for to-night, that’s a darling boy,” said his mother.
“But, mother, it’s my duty to know it; you wouldn’t have me fail in duty, mother dear, would you? Why, it was you who told me to persevere, and do all things with my might. Well, I will leave it for to-night.” Then, still unconscious of what he was doing, the boy got up and prayed, as it was evident that he had done many a time, that God would strengthen his memory and quicken his powers, and enable him to do his duty like a man. It was inexpressibly touching to see him as he knelt there—thin, pale, emaciated, the shadow of his former self, kneeling in his delirium to offer up his old accustomed prayer.
And when he got into bed again, although his mind still wandered, he was much calmer, and a new direction seemed to have been given to his thoughts. The prayer had fallen like dew on his aching soul. He fancied himself in Power’s study, where for many a Sunday the two boys had been used to sit, and where they had often learnt or read to each other their favourite hymns. Fragments of these hymns he was now repeating, dwelling on the words with an evident sense of pleasure and belief—
“‘A noble army—men and boys,
The matron and the maid,
Around the Saviour’s throne rejoice,
In robes of light arrayed.
They climbed the steep ascent of heaven,
’Mid peril, toil, and pain;
O God, to us may strength be given,
To follow in their train.’