There was a long, long silence, broken by a silvery laugh, which came through the half-opened window like a strain of cheerful music, then was suddenly cut short.
"Hush, Charley; you forget," said the soft voice of Agnes; "he may be sleeping."
Through the calm spring air the reproof was borne into the sick man's room as clearly as the sound which had called it forth.
"He is so happy," whispered Harry, gently; "you must forgive him; remember he does not know."
"Yes, yes; it is better so. Dear Charley—happy, happy Charley!"
And a smile once more came over the sick man's face, which did not pass away, for Death had frozen it there.
L'ENVOI.
Years have passed since Richard Yorke was laid in the church-yard on the hill at Gethin, close beside his mother, whose bones Harry's pious care had caused to be transported thither.
If aught of things that here befall
Touch a spirit among things divine—
If love has force to move us there at all,
her ghost was glad. "In time," thought Harry, "I too shall lie by his side, at last, once more."