He turned with anguished eyes to the grave gentleman who had placed a hand on the dear mother's pulse.
Again she spoke:
"My boy, you must understand, God has called me—I am dying. In the morning I shall not see your dear eyes; I shall never touch your head again. Oh, dear, dear head—oh, soft curls!" She paused a minute and a little sob broke from her.
"Jeff, Uncle Hugh has been telling me about you the past few days. It has been a great happiness—a great comfort to know that you are so brave and truthful. There are faults, my darling, still; but I think, my own, that you will be a hero some day." She smiled upon him with indescribable content. "I have no fears for you. You will bear what is given you to bear patiently. You will not grieve your father—you will remember that—" Her voice failed.
"Oh, mother, stay with me. I can never be great or good without you—things are so hard. Only stay with me a little while. No one has ever loved me as you love me."
A glow of light passed over the sweet face.
"Darling, no one will ever love you like I have loved you. Jeff, you have been a great happiness to me. By and by, when you come to me, I shall know, perhaps, that you have remembered all that I have said to you. Oh, doctor, the pain—again."
She gasped for breath, and Mrs. Parsons lifted her up and put some cordial to her lips. When she spoke again she wandered a little:
"I was so happy in India—we were all so happy together. Dear husband—our little son—is growing up all that we could wish him—by and by—he will comfort you. I shall know—perhaps that you speak of me—sometimes."
"Mother, you shall know," burst from Jeff. He spoke in a hoarse way. Only by a supreme effort could he choke back his sobs. Now he had raised himself and was gazing into the beloved eyes, which seemed to see some far-off vision.