Mr. Carleton neglected the chair she had placed for him, and remained standing by the mantelpiece, thinking of the scenes of his early introduction to that kitchen. It wore the same look it had done then; under Barby's rule it was precisely the same thing it had been under Cynthia's.--The passing years seemed a dream, and the passing generations of men a vanity, before the old house more abiding than they. He stood thinking of the people he had seen gathered by that fireplace and the little household fairy whose childish ministrations had given such a beauty to the scene,--when a very light step crossed the painted floor and she was there again before him. She did not speak a word; she stood still a moment trying for words, and then put her hand upon Mr. Carleton's arm and gently drew him out of the room with her.
The family were all gathered in the room to which she brought him. Mr. Rossitur, as soon as he saw Mr. Carleton come in, shrunk back where he could be a little shielded by the bed-post. Marion's face was hid on the foot of the bed. Mrs. Rossitur did not move. Leaving Mr. Carleton on the near side of the bed Fleda went round to the place she seemed to have occupied before, at Hugh's right hand; and they were all still, for he was in a little doze, lying with his eyes closed, and the face as gently and placidly sweet as it had been in his boyhood. Perhaps Mr. Rossitur looked at it; but no other did just then, except Mr. Carleton. His eye rested nowhere else. The breathing of an infant could not be more gentle; the face of an angel not more peacefully at rest. "So he giveth his beloved sleep,"--thought the gentleman, as he gazed on the brow from which all care, if care there had ever been, seemed to have taken flight.
Not yet--not quite yet; for Hugh suddenly opened his eyes and without seeing anybody else, said,
"Father--"
Mr. Rossitur left the bed-post and came close to where Fleda was standing, and leaning forward, touched his son's head, but did not speak.
"Father--" said Hugh, in a voice so gentle that it seemed as if strength must be failing,--"what will you do when you come to lie here?"
Mr. Rossitur put his hands to his face.
"Father--I must speak now if I never did before--once I must speak to you,--what will you do when you come to lie where I do?--what will you trust to?"
The person addressed was as motionless as a statue. Hugh did not move his eyes from him.
"Father, I will be a living warning and example to you, for I know that I shall live in your memory--you shall remember what I say to you--that Jesus Christ is a dear friend to those that trust in him, and if he is not yours it will be because you will not let him. You shall remember my testimony, that he can make death sweeter than life--in his presence is fulness of joy--at his right hand there are pleasures for evermore. He is better,--he is more to me,--even than you all, and he will be to you a better friend than the poor child you are losing, though you do not know it now. It is he that has made my life in this world happy--only he--and I have nothing to look to but him in the world I am going to. But what will you do in the hour of death, as I am, if he isn't your friend, father?"