“The future—my future! What will it be like, I wonder?” Sumner Dalton asked, helplessly, and searching that noble face with painful earnestness, as if he could tell him.
“The future means ‘heaven’ to those who are ready for it,” was the grave, dignified reply.
“Yes, yes; but to those who are not ready for it?” came breathlessly from the blue lips of the sufferer.
“All may be ready for it if they will,” Earle answered, in low, sweet tones. Then seeing how excited Mr. Dalton was becoming, he added: “You must rest now—you have talked long, and are very weary. I will come to you again when you have slept, and we will talk more of this.”
“You will stay—you will not go away until—after——” the dying man began, wildly, but finished with a groan.
The thought of death was anguish.
“I shall stay for the present—as long as you need me,” Earle replied, understanding him, and pitying him deeply.
A sigh of relief followed this assurance.
In the hour of his weakness and need he turned, with a strange feeling of confidence, to the strong, true nature which he had once so scorned and despised.
His eyes followed the manly form wistfully as it quietly passed from the room, then, with a weary sigh, he turned upon his pillow and slept.