And in a few minutes the angel of light—­for such she was to the declining man—­glided to the dying bed.  When she approached it his eyes were shut, and his lips moved as if in prayer.  At his side she stood, the faithful tears pouring down her cheek, her voice suspended, lest a breath should fall upon the sufferer and awaken him to pain.  Quietly at last, as if from sweetest sleep, his eyes unclosed, and, with a fond expression, fixed themselves on her.  Faster and faster streamed the unchecked tears adown the lovely cheek, louder and louder grew the agonizing sobs that would not be controlled.  He took her drooping palm, pressed it as he might between his bony hands, and covered it with kisses.  Doctor Wilford silently withdrew.

“Dear, good Margaret,” the sick man faltered, “I shall lose you soon.  Heaven will bless you for your loving care.”

“Take courage, dearest,” was Margaret’s reply; “all will yet be well.”

“It will, beloved—­but not here,” he answered.  “We shall meet again—­be sure of it.  God is merciful, not cruel, and our happiness on earth has been a foretaste of the diviner bliss hereafter.  We are separated but for an hour.  Do not weep, my sweet one, but listen to me.  It was my duty to reward you, Margaret, for all that you have done for the infirm old man.  I have performed this duty.  Every thing that I possess is yours!  My will is with my private papers in the desk.  It will do you justice.  Could I have given you the wealth of India, you would have deserved it all.”

Tears, tears were the heart’s intense acknowledgment.  What could she say at such a time?

“I have thought fit, my Margaret, to burden you with no restrictions.  I could not be so wicked and so selfish as to wish you not to wed again”—­

“Speak not of it, James—­speak not of it,” almost screamed the lovely wife, intercepting the generous speaker’s words.  “Do not overwhelm me with my grief.”

“It is best, my Margaret, to name these things whilst power is still left me.  Understand me, dearest.  I do not bid you wed again.  You are free to do it if it will make you happier.”

“Never—­never, dearest and best of men!  I am yours in life and death—­yours for ever.  Before Heaven I vow”—­

Mildred touched the upraised hand, held it in his own, and in a feeble, worn-out voice, said gravely—­

“I implore you to desist—­spare me the pain—­make not a vow so rash.  You are young and beautiful, my Margaret—­a time may come—­let there be no vow.  Where is Wilford?  I wish to have you both about me.”

The following morning Margaret was weeping on her husband’s corpse.  Ten years before, she had wept when he proposed for her, and ten years afterwards, almost to a day, she was weeping on John Humphrys’ pillow, distressed with recollections that would not let her rest.

* * * * *

CHAPTER III