Two days later it was evident that the end was drawing near. Before this came he asked for his wife and told her to bring Robert. When the two were at his bedside he placed their hands one within the other.
"Robert, I'm going," he said slowly and painfully. "Will you forgive the past?"
"I will," answered Robert. His emotion was such that he could scarcely speak.
"And, Sarah, will you forgive me, too?" went on the dying man, turning his yearning eyes toward his wife.
"Oh, James, James, there is nothing to forgive!" she wailed, and fell on his bosom.
"I've done a good deal of wrong, and this is the end of it. Robert, be a good boy and take care of your mother, for she is the best woman in the world. I--I--wish--I had--been--better too. If I----"
James Talbot tried to say more, but could not. A spasm had seized him, and when it was over the paralysis had touched his tongue, and his speech was silenced forever. He died at sunset, and was buried on the Sunday following, in the little Granville cemetery where Robert's father rested.
The taking off of James Talbot made a great change in Robert's mother. She became a deep-thinking, serious woman, and from that hour on her heart and soul were wrapped up in her only child.
To get her away from the scene of her sorrows, Robert wrote to Mrs. Vernon, and that lady promptly invited the widow to pay her a visit, and this invitation was accepted. The two ladies soon became warm friends, and it was decided that in the future Mrs. Talbot was to spend her winters in Chicago, while each summer Mrs. Vernon and Robert should come to Granville for an outing.
"Because, you see," said Mrs. Vernon, "we'll have to divide Robert between us, since neither of us can very well give him up."