"Go in," he said, "and tell her I am here."
The boy did so, and then beckoned him to enter.
Susan's submissive features were but little changed, from the time when her husband was taken from her; but the weak and wasted form that strove to raise itself in vain, as Alfred approached the bed-side, too plainly revealed that the struggle was drawing to a close—that the time of rest was at hand.
"Thank God, you are come," she said; "you have heard from him? Tell me quickly, for my time is short."
"I come to tell you good news, Susan. You may yet be restored to him."
"I shall not see Martin in this world again, Mr. Gray; but I shall close my eyes in peace. If you know where he is, and can tell me that my boy shall go and be with him, and tell him how, through these long weary years, we loved him, and thought of him, and prayed for him—" Here she broke off, and beckoned the boy to her. She held his hands within her own, whilst Alfred Gray read from the letter all that would comfort her.
When he had done, she said, "God will bless you—you have been very good to us in our misery. Now, will you promise me one thing more? Will you send my boy to his father, when I am gone?"
The promise was made; and the boy knelt long by her bedside, listening to the words of love and consolation which, with her latest breath, she uttered for the sake of him who, she hoped, would hear them again from his child's lips.
* * * * *
Nearly forty years have passed since they laid her among the graves of the humble villagers of Uffeulme. Few remain now who remember her story or her name—but, on the other side of the world, amid scenery all unlike to that in which she dwelt, there stands a cheerful settler's home, and under the shadow of tall acacia trees which surround the little garden in which some few English flowers are blooming, there are sitting, in the cool of the summer evening, a group whose faces are all of the Anglo-Saxon mould. A happy looking couple, in the prime of life, are there, with children playing around them; and one little gentle girl, they call Susan, is sitting on the knee of an aged, white-haired man, looking lovingly into his face, and wondering why his eye so watches the setting sun every night, as it sinks behind the blue waters in the distance. Two tall, handsome lads, with guns on their shoulders, enter the garden, and hasten to show the old man the fruits of their day's exploits.