"Take him away," said Lord James.
"My lord," I exclaimed, "he weeps! Ah, check not his tears!"
I bent over the child, and heard him sob.
"William! dear William!" I cried, anxiously taking his hand, "why do you weep, William?"
For the second time he turned his head towards me; then, with a gentle look, full of sorrow, "My mother is dead," he replied.
I have not words to tell you what I felt. William's eyes were now intelligent: his tears were sad and significant; and his voice was broken as when the heart suffers. I uttered a cry; I almost knelt down beside Eva's bed.
"Ah! you were right, Eva!" I exclaimed, "not to despair of the mercy of God!"
Lord James himself had started. Lady Mary was as pale as Eva.
"Mother! mother!" cried William, in tones that filled my heart with joy; and then, repeating the words of Eva Meredith—those words which she had so truly said he would find at the bottom of his heart—the child exclaimed aloud,
"I am dying, my son. Your father is dead; you are alone upon the earth; you must pray to the Lord!"