Suddenly a carriage is heard dashing through the street. It stops at the door, and a lady hurriedly alights, after directing the driver to ring the bell. Then a servant more leisurely follows, holding by the hand a lovely boy.
"She has come," murmured Mrs. Dudley, bending over her dying son.
"God be praised. I have nothing more to ask. Will you leave us alone?"
The door softly opened and gentle steps advanced to the side of the bed.
"Papa," said a sweet, childish voice, "I'm your little Paul. Mamma told me you were sick; and I wanted to come right off and see you."
The father held the small, dimpled hand, and tried to articulate one word; but the emotions had been too much for his feeble frame, and for a few moments his paroxysms of distress were terrible to witness. But he did not lose his consciousness; and seemed so fearful Gertrude would take Paul from the room, that she bent over him, murmuring:
"I will not leave you. It is hard not to be able to help you."
He was soon relieved, and said panting:
"It is all right. He," pointing upward, "orders every pang. I shall soon have a whole eternity to rest in."
"My son," he repeated solemnly, placing his hand on the boy's head, "I prayed God to allow me to see you, and now I want to say, 'Fear God and keep his commandments.' This will render you happy in life and triumphant in death."