"Horace will come and see you to-morrow," said she, rising and extending her trembling hand. "I must not stay longer."
"Do not go yet."
"You are becoming exhausted."
"Read to me," pointing to the book.
She took the book and turned to a suitable portion.
"Sit where I can see your countenance, if you please."
She could not refuse his request. He gazed upon her as she read, in tones which called vividly to remembrance those of other days, a consoling portion of the Words of Him who brought life and immortality to light. She then rose, wiped away a tear, silently pressed his hand, and withdrew.
Horace called the next morning, but did not receive the expected charge. During the silence of the night, Richard Clifton had ceased to be an inhabitant of earth.
(To be continued.)