"But," with a new fear visible on his face, "you will lose sight of him before the chance—of happiness—comes to the boy. You, ever apart from him—may not know——"
"Yes, I shall know—always!"
"He always stood your friend, remember, Mattie," said the old man, as if endeavouring to win over Mattie heart and soul to the new cause, by all the force of reasoning left in him. "He wasn't like—me, and Wesden—ever inclined to waver in his thoughts of you. He believed—in you ever—to be good and true—and you will think of this?"
"I will," was the faint reply.
Mattie had bowed her head, and it was almost hidden in the bed-clothes. The old man's hand rested for an instant on the girl's raven hair.
"I have—a hope—that from you, and through your means, Sid—poor old Sid!—may find peace and comfort at last. I was thinking—of your liking for us all—this very night."
"Were you? It was kind to think of me," with a low murmur.
"And I—somehow—built my hopes in you. Do you remember how you—and I—used to talk of Sid—in that old room, in Suffolk—Street?"
"Well."
"Keep me in his memory, when he's very sad, remind him—of me—and how I loved him, Mattie," in a low, excited whisper. "I'm sure that he's in trouble—that he keeps something—back from—me!"'