A dozen times that day it seemed as if the breath coming so faintly must be his last; but he clung to life with a strange, silent tenacity. At last, just a few moments before it was time for the accustomed visit, he said,—
"Kiss me good-by, mother. I want to save the rest of my strength for him."
She kissed him, with her bitter tears falling fast. He put up a hand so thin that you could almost see through it, and brushed the tears away.
"Don't cry," he said; "it hurts me. Life here was hard, and up above Christ says it will be all made easy."
Then he was silent, and presently Robert came with a great bunch of white lilies in his hand.
"The lilies of heaven," murmured Jamie, in a low, strange tone. Then into his eyes broke once more the light which never failed to respond to Robert's coming, and a wan smile fluttered over his lips, as a soul might flutter before it flies away.
"I am going now," he said. "I waited to say good-by, my little gentleman. Do you think they are all gentlemen up there?"
With this question his life went out, and voices we could not hear made answer.
This was the beginning of Robert Shaftsbury's career. No harm came to him through his presence in the fever-tainted house,—but he had learned a lesson there. The one thing for which he has striven in life is to be a gentleman; and his interpretation of that much-abused phrase he finds in the Book which tells us to do unto others as we would that they should do unto us.