"I am glad you have come, Robert," he said.
"Dear father," said Robert, bursting into tears, "how sick you are looking!"
"Yes, Robert," said Ralph Raymond feebly, "I am not long for this world. I have become very feeble, and I know that I shall never leave this chamber till I am carried out in my coffin."
"Don't say that, father," said Robert in tones of grief.
"It is best that you should know the truth, my son, especially, as my death cannot be long delayed."
"You will live some months, father, will you not?"
"I do not think I shall live a week, Robert," said his father. "The sands of my life are nearly run out; but I am not sorry. Life has lost its attractions for me, and my only desire to live would proceed from the reluctance I feel at leaving you."
"What shall I do without you, father?" asked the boy, his breast heaving with the painful sobs which he was trying in vain to repress.
"I shall not leave you wholly alone, my dear boy. I have arranged that you may be in charge of my old friend, Mr. Morton, who, I am sure will take the tenderest care of you, and try to be a father to you."