“There was a moment of solemn silence: none moved or spoke. Death makes an impression upon the haughtiest. Lady Mary and Lord James Kysington kneeled beside their victim’s bed. In a few minutes Lord James arose. ‘Take the child from his mother’s room,’ he said, ‘and come with me, doctor; I will explain to you my intentions respecting him.’
“For two hours William had been resting on the shoulder of Eva Meredith, his heart against her heart, his lips pressed to hers, receiving her kisses and her tears. I approached him, and, without expending useless words, I endeavoured to raise and lead him from the room; but he resisted, and his arms clasped his mother more closely. This resistance, the first the poor child had ever offered to living creature, touched my very soul. On my renewing the attempt, however, William yielded; he made a movement and turned towards me, and I saw his beautiful countenance suffused with tears. Until that day, William had never wept. I was greatly startled and moved, and I let the child throw himself again upon his mother’s corpse.
“‘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.