I have had the impression that I should never recover; and should I not live to see any of my friends.  I have one or two requests to make of you, knowing that you will attend to my wishes when I shall be no more.”  I became so much alarmed that I was on the point of calling some of the family; but he arrested me saying:  “I am quite free from pain, and when I have finished my conversation with you shall probably sleep.”  He continued, “I know my father will hasten at once to me when apprised of my illness, but should I not live till he arrives, tell him I have endeavored to follow the counsels he gave me when I left home; for I know it will comfort him when I am gone to know that I respected his wishes.  Tell him, also, he will find what money I have been able to save from my salary deposited in the Savings Bank.  Tell him to remember me to my mother and sister Mary, and could I have been permitted to see them again it would have afforded me much happiness, but that I died trusting in the merits of my Redeemer, and hope to meet them all in Heaven, where parting will be no more.”  His writing-desk, which was a very beautiful and expensive article, he requested me to accept of as a token of affection from him.  I promised faithfully to obey all his wishes should his sad forebodings prove true, yet I could not believe he was to die.  At the close of our conversation he seemed fatigued, I arranged his pillows and gave him a cooling drink, and I was soon aware by his regular breathing that he slept soundly.  As he lay there wrapped in repose my memory ran backward over all the happy time I had spent with him; he was the only one outside of Mr. Baynard’s family with whom I was at all intimate, and the bitter tears which I could not repress, as I gazed upon his changed features, made me sensible how dear he had become to me.  A hasty letter was written next morning to Mr. Dalton, informing him of his son’s illness, and of his urgent request that he should hasten to him as soon as possible; but poor Robert lived not to see his father again.  The next day after the letter was written a sudden change for the worse took place in his disease, and it soon became evident that he could live but a few hours.  He expressed a wish that I should remain with him to the last, and before another morning dawned Robert Dalton had passed from among the living.  A short time before his death, his eyes sought my face, and his lips moved as though he wished to speak to me; I bowed my ear to catch his words, as he said in a voice which was audible to me only:  “When my father arrives remember all I said to you, and tell him I died happy, feeling that all will be well with me.”  After this he spoke no more, and an hour later he died with my hand clasped in his own.  When, two days after, his father arrived, and found that he was indeed dead, his grief was heart-rending to witness.  Never before did I see such an agony of grief as was depicted upon his countenance as he bowed himself over the lifeless body of his only son.