Brownie comprehends at once that at last the parents have found their missing child.
“It is Sir Edgar Douglas and his wife, who have just returned from a journey into Wales,” Adrian whispers, drawing his wife a little aside, and then continued: “They arrived only this morning, and were rendered nearly frantic at finding the nurse and their boy missing; but almost immediately they saw my advertisement, and hastened hither at once.”
“How dreadful!” murmured Brownie, weeping with the stricken ones.
Then she hastened to minister to the little one, who seemed now to be struggling with the mighty foe; while his mother was too much overcome by her violent grief to be capable of any effort, and the father seemed like one turned to stone.
Brownie closes the beautiful eyes, smooths the bright curling locks back from the marble brow, and clasps the tiny hands upon the still breast, then turns to comfort the bereft mother.
It is a hopeless task, however, for she is borne fainting to another apartment, whither her husband soon follows her, having first, in reply to Adrian’s offer of assistance, requested that he would arrange for the last sad rites.
The mother wept, and would not be comforted; but the father was like a block of marble, until he looked his last upon his darling’s face and they bore him from his sight. Then, with one deep, heartrending groan, he sank lifeless upon the floor, stricken down by a fatal attack of apoplexy.
It was his heir, his only treasure, and death had ruthlessly snatched him from his grasp; he had not thought that his peerless boy could die, so young, so bright, so beautiful, and his own heart-strings were snapped asunder.
Three days later those who had borne his son away, took him also, and laid him by his side, while the widow returned to her home desolate.
The nurse was very ill for several weeks, but at length, contrary to all expectation, she began to recover, and in time returned to her sorrowing mistress.