At that moment Lucy and Archibald came in, on their return from their visit to Miss Carlyle.  The dying boy looked up eagerly.

“Good-bye, Lucy,” he said, putting out his cold, damp hand.

“I am not going out,” replied Lucy.  “We have but just come home.”

“Good-bye, Lucy,” repeated he.

She laid hold of the little hand then, leaned over, and kissed him.  “Good-bye, William; but indeed I am not going out anywhere.”

“I am,” said he.  “I am going to Heaven.  Where’s Archie?”

Mr. Carlyle lifted Archie on to the bed.  Lucy looked frightened, Archie surprised.

“Archie, good-bye; good-bye, dear, I am going to Heaven; to that bright, blue sky, you know.  I shall see mamma there, and I’ll tell her that you and Lucy are coming soon.”

Lucy, a sensitive child, broke into a loud storm of sobs, enough to disturb the equanimity of any sober sick room.  Wilson hastened in at the sound, and Mr. Carlyle sent the two children away, with soothing promises that they should see William in the morning, if he continued well enough.

Down on her knees, her face buried in the counterpane, a corner of it stuffed into her mouth that it might help to stifle her agony, knelt Lady Isabel.  The moment’s excitement was well nigh beyond her strength of endurance.  Her own child—­his child—­they alone around its death-bed, and she might not ask or receive a word of comfort, of consolation!

Mr. Carlyle glanced at her as he caught her choking sobs just as he would have glanced at any other attentive governess—­feeling her sympathy, doubtless, but nothing more; she was not heart and part with him and his departing boy.  Lower and lower bent he over that boy; for his eyes were wet.  “Don’t cry, papa,” whispered William, raising his feeble hand caressingly to his father’s cheek, “I am not afraid to go.  Jesus is coming for me.”

“Afraid to go!  Indeed I hope not, my gentle boy.  You are going to God—­to happiness.  A few years—­we know not how few—­and we shall all come to you.”

“Yes, you will be sure to come; I know that.  I shall tell mamma so.  I dare say she is looking out for me now.  Perhaps she’s standing on the banks of the river, watching the boats.”

He had evidently got that picture of Martin’s in his mind, “The Plains of Heaven.”  Mr. Carlyle turned to the table.  He saw some strawberry juice, pressed from the fresh fruit, and moistened with it the boy’s fevered lips.

“Papa, I can’t think how Jesus can be in all the boats!  Perhaps they don’t go quite at the same time.  He must be, you know, because He comes to fetch us.”

“He will be yours, darling,” was the whispered, fervent answer.

“Oh, yes.  He will take me all the way up to God, and say, ’Here’s a poor little boy come, you must please to forgive him and let him go into Heaven, because I died for him!’ Papa did you know that mamma’s heart broke?”