“Hesper,” said aunt Nyna, as she awoke from her sleep, “how is Johnny now?”
“O much better,” whispered Hesper. “His fever has entirely left him, and you cannot think how still and quiet he lies, though he is very weak, and breathes so lightly I can scarce hear him.”
Aunt Nyna started up quickly at this, and went to his bed-side. She looked him earnestly in the face, and counted the feeble beatings of his pulse.
“Hesper,” she said seriously, “Johnny is no better. I fear he will leave us very soon.”
Hesper said not a word, though her lips grow white and she trembled violently. She bent over the dear child whom she had watched and tended so carefully, and kissed his pale cheek.
“Johnny, darling,” she said in a low tone, “do you know me?”
He looked up with a faint smile—his lips moved, and he distinctly whispered “Hesper.” It was the first word the child had ever clearly spoken, and it was his last, for in a few moments after, he turned wearily upon his side, and with one long drawn sigh, the spirit gently departed.
“Poor lamb!” said aunt Nyna, as she brushed away the damp ringlets from his forehead, and tenderly closed the long fringed lids—“he has heard the Shepherd’s call and gone home to the fold of love.”
But Hesper heard not; she had never looked on death before, and it was too great a trial for her loving heart. With a faint moan she sank down by the bed-side, and when aunt Nyna raised her up, she found the poor girl had fainted.