"Dear Robert; have you come?" said a low, sweet voice.
"Yes, my lord," answered Robert, joyfully.
"Oh, won't you call me Arthur, now that I am dying?" said his friend.
"Arthur, dear Arthur," murmured Robert, and that was all that he could say for weeping.
After awhile, Lord Evremond, looking up to his mother and clasping Robert's hand, said:
"Mamma, I leave you Robert; love him and take care of him; send him to school, and let him have just such an education as you would have given to me. Promise me that you will, dear mamma."
"Yes, Arthur, my beloved child, I promise but oh, my son, my darling only boy, how can I part with you!"
"Dearest mother, only think, it is for but a little while, and then we shall all be together. Kiss me now, and let me sleep, I feel so drowsy."
And he did sleep, for some time, very peacefully, smiling sweetly, as though dreaming pleasant dreams. Suddenly he opened his eyes, and reached up his arms, calling out joyfully: "Papa! sister Mary!" and died without a pang of suffering.
Ten years had passed. It was Sunday morning, and the church bell of Evremond was calling the people to worship. All were eager to see and hear the new minister, who was to preach his first sermon that day. Out of the pleasant Rectory he came, supporting an elderly lady on his arm. It was Robert Selwyn and his mother. At the church door they met a lady, who grasped them both by the hand. This was Lady Evremond.