Mr. Hammond started for the door, but ere he had reached it, the distracted mother entered.
"Oh! Willy, my boy! my boy!" she exclaimed, in tones of anguish that made the heart shudder. And she crouched down on the floor, the moment she reached the bed whereon he lay, and pressed her lips—oh, so tenderly and lovingly!—to his.
"Dear mother! Sweet mother! Best of mothers!" He even smiled as he said this; and, into the face now bent over him, looked up with glances of unutterable fondness.
"Oh, Willy! Willy! Willy! my son, my son!" And again her lips were laid closely to his.
Mr. Hammond now interfered, and endeavored to remove his wife, fearing for the consequence upon his son.
"Don't, father!" said Willy; "let her remain. I am not excited nor disturbed. I am glad that she is here, now. It will be best for us both."
"You must not excite him, dear," said Mr. Hammond—"he is very weak."
"I'll not excite him," answered the mother. "I'll not speak a word. There, love"—and she laid her fingers softly upon the lips of her son—"don't speak a single word."
For only a few moments did she sit with the quiet formality of a nurse, who feels how much depends on the repose of her patient. Then she began weeping, moaning, and wringing her hands.
"Mother!" The feeble voice of Willy stilled, instantly, the tempest of feeling. "Mother, kiss me!"