"No," she said, "I am slowly but steadily declining;" then she added in a very affectionate tone: "Will you promise me, Frank, that you will always strive to do what is right?"
"Mother," replied the son, his voice quivering with emotion: "I will be good."
Neither of them said another word for a few minutes. Their hearts were too full. Affectionate love, grief and resignation were filling their souls.
Soon, the father entered and the family retired.
Next day Mrs. Mather's prophecies were fulfilled. She felt much worse and stayed in bed. In less than a week, she was dead and buried.
Thus deprived of his mother, Frank Mathers felt intensely lonely. He suppressed his grief as much as possible, but it could be seen that he suffered.
He had his father, 'tis true, but Mr. Mathers was a man of a gloomy temperament. But a young man of nineteen ought not to be attached to his mother's pinafore! The house seemed so empty, it seemed quite large now, a roomy house with no furniture. The air he breathed was not perfumed with the sweet breath of love as it was wont to be.
He grew melancholy. He had never been of a very bright temperament, and the life of self-sacrifice which he had hitherto led, had not helped him towards being cheerful.
Besides, there was no one to cheer him now, no kind word to spur him on. "Ah! life without love," he sighed, "life without love is hardly worth living."
From bad he went to worse. He almost ceased to eat. He lost a great deal of his former activity and was often absent-minded. His employers noticed this, for he often made false entries in the books.