“You must spare me for a very little while, my dear,” said she, gently but steadily.

“Don’t stay long, then,” replied he.

Uncle Geoffrey came up to his bedside, and with a touch soft and light as a woman’s, arranged the coverings disturbed by his restlessness, and for a few moments succeeded in tranquillizing him, but almost immediately he renewed his entreaties that his mother would return, and had it been any other than his uncle who had taken her place, would have grumbled at his not going to call her.  On her return, she was greeted with a discontented murmur.  “What an immense time you have stayed away!”—­presently after, “I wish you would not have that Carey!” and then, “I wish we were at Rocksand,—­I wish Mr. Clarke were here.”

Patience in illness is a quality so frequently described in books as well as actually found in real life, that we are apt to believe that it comes as a matter of course, and without previous training, particularly in the young, and that peevishness is especially reserved for the old and querulous, who are to try the amiability of the heroine.  To a certain degree, this is often the case; the complete prostration of strength, and the dim awe of approaching death in the acute illnesses of the young, often tame down the stubborn or petulant temper, and their patience and forbearance become the wonder and admiration of those who have seen germs of far other dispositions.  And when this is not the case, who would have the heart to complain?  Certainly not those who are like the mother and uncle who had most to endure from the exacting humours of Frederick Langford.  High spirits, excellent health, a certain degree of gentleness of character, and a home where, though he was not over indulged, there was little to ruffle him, all had hitherto combined to make him appear one of the most amiable good-tempered boys that ever existed; but there was no substance in this apparent good quality, it was founded on no real principle of obedience or submission, and when to an habitual spirit of determination to have his own way, was superadded the irritability of nerves which was a part of his illness, when his powers of reflection were too much weakened to endure or comprehend argument; when, in fact, nothing was left to fall back upon but the simple obedience which would have been required in a child, and when that obedience was wanting, what could result but increased discomfort to himself and all concerned?  Yes, even as we should lay up a store of prayers against that time when we shall be unable to pray for ourselves, so surely should we lay up a store of habits against the time when we may be unable to think or reason for ourselves!  How often have lives been saved by the mere instinct of unquestioning instantaneous obedience!