"Mother darling, you are better—say you are better to-night, and that you will soon be well enough to go back to Loch Lossie," he said as he hung over her at saying "good-night."
She smiled fondly upon him.
"You wish me to get better so very much, Jeff, I almost feel as if I must."
"You must, you must," he repeated vehemently.
It hardly seemed any time since he had gone to bed when Jeff was roused by Uncle Hugh touching him on the shoulder.
"Get up, my boy, quickly, your mother wishes you to come to her."
Mr. Colquhoun's face was very grave, and his habitually cold voice had a thrill of sympathy in its tones. The boy was up in a moment. Nothing was surprising now. When he had put on his clothes he went down-stairs to his mother's room. The door was ajar and he pushed it open. There was a solemn hush here, though there were plenty of lights about, and a kettle steaming on the hearth. Jeff noticed at once an overpowering smell of drugs. There was a strange man in the room. The boy with a cold chill at his heart recognized him as a doctor. How still the figure on the bed was! How marble-white the face propped up by many pillows! The mother heard the gentle footfall of her beloved child, and the soft brown eyes unclosed at his approach—unclosed with the ever-loving glance. A fleeting smile passed over her face.
"My little lad," said a voice, oh, so faintly, but with such infinite tenderness, "you have been quick in coming. I have sent for you to say another good-night. Jeff, darling, try and understand—I am going—where it is always morning—I am going to leave you—after such a little stay—"
The boy had thrown himself beside her on the big bed. He had never seen the approach of death. He could not understand it.
"Mother, why should you go? why should they take you away from me again? Oh, no, no! Please, sir, do not be so cruel; I'm so lonely without her."