"Is there anythink very bad the matter?" he ventured to ask, after standing silent for a little while.
"Is that you, Sandy?" asked Mr. Shafto, in a broken voice.
"Ay, it's me!" he answered. "Can I do anythink?"
"Johnny's wanting you," said Mr. Shafto; "he's been asking all the afternoon how long it would be before you came home."
Sandy scarcely heard the last words, for he was already mounting the winding staircase with a swift though quiet footstep. The low room where he and John slept was lighter than the kitchen below, though dim enough with only the light of one candle. But he could see John's face, white and shining, with a brightness in the eyes such as he had never seen there before, and a look which seemed all at once as if it must break Sandy's heart.
"Oh, Johnny!" he cried. "Little Gip's lost; and now you're goin' to die and leave me!"
He fell down on his knees at the foot of the bed, and buried his face in the clothes. Was it not too dreadful to be true? The love he had felt for little Gip had been transferred to John Shafto. After losing her, his heart, which had been hungry for something to love, had turned to him and clung to him as it had done to her. Very gradually he had been comforted for her loss, though he had never ceased to think of her; and now he was going away too! He did not see how he himself could continue to live in a world where there was neither little Gip nor John Shafto.
"Sandy!" said a very feeble, very low voice. "Sandy!"
"I can't let you go!" cried Sandy, "don't you die, Johnny. Don't you go away and leave me. What am I to do if you die, and I can't see you again, never? Oh, Johnny! don't you die, and leave me."
"Sandy," said John's failing voice again, "I must die; and you'll have mother, you know. She's promised me to be like your own mother, and I want you to promise you'll be like me to her. You must take my place. Oh, Sandy! I shall die happier if you promise always to love mother, and be like a son to her."