Egerton here," he said, when William appeared.

After a pause of about three minutes, which seemed like an hour to Harry, and during which not a word was uttered, Egerton entered, cool and collected, and said respectfully to Dr Palmer:

"William said I was wanted, sir."

"Campbell tells me he saw you using this book,"—holding out the delectus-crib—"in yesterday-morning school. The conclusion, therefore is, that it is yours, and that you put it into his desk. What have you to say to this, Egerton?"

"No, sir, I declare the book isn't mine," answered Egerton, positively, and still quite coolly. "I suppose Campbell's tried to put it off on me, because I'm next him in class."

"Oh, Egerton, how can you say so!" ejaculated Harry. "You know you were using it."

"Ask Evans, sir; he sat on the other side of me," said Egerton.

Evans was sent for.

"No, he never saw Egerton using the book. He sat close to him, and couldn't have helped seeing if he was cribbing."

Egerton again positively and solemnly declaring he knew nothing whatever of the matter, and Evans' evidence so far bearing him out, Dr Palmer dismissed them both, and then turned to Harry.

"Campbell, you have now had every chance. You have been detected in a most dishonourable act, and you have added to your fault by telling a lie. Bend down," he concluded, taking his cane.

In vain Harry protested his innocence. In vain he begged Dr Palmer to believe him. Twenty times the strong arm rose, twenty times the cane whished through the air, and twenty times Harry felt the sting. By the time it was all over, he was perfectly numbed and stiff with pain. But the bodily suffering was nothing when compared with the mental agony he felt at thus being punished when innocent. His whole frame was convulsed with sobs, and Dr Palmer was giving him a few words of concluding rebuke, when a hasty knock came at the door; and William, without waiting for the customary "Come in," hurried into the room, and said in his blunt way:

"Campbell's wanted home. His mother's bad."

Doctor Palmer's sternness and severity vanished in a moment. So it was always with him. Strict as he was, severe as he was, directly the punishment had been duly administered, he was kind-hearted and genial to the culprit long before he had recovered the effects of his punishment.

"Campbell, your mother is ill." He knew nothing more than that Mrs Campbell was a confirmed invalid. "Go and get your cap; I will come with you. Perhaps I can be of some use."

But Harry's heart was too stricken to accept those well-meant words; and the sudden change in the Doctor made Harry say what at another time he would never have dared to say.

"No," he sobbed. "I'll go alone. She doesn't want you. She believes me, and you don't. She won't speak to you." And he rushed from the room, leaving the doctor far too affected and moved to attempt to stop him or call him back.

CHAPTER X.

SUNLIGHT.

Ministering friends—Watching—Past all tears—Taken home—The dark valley.

The summer sunlight lay thick about the room where Mrs Campbell was dying. There was a square of deep blue sky, edged by the window frame, glistening before her eyes—eyes that now were lighted up with the fervour of a holy death—eyes that glowed in sweet anticipation of that pure light which shines forever on the hills of heaven.

The silence of the room was only broken now and then by the few soothing words the doctor's wife would say or read. Mrs Valentine sat on the farther side of the bed, her eyes red with weeping; and, from time to time, tried to get some nourishment into the poor weak lips, though she knew well the while that all these tender ministerings were in vain. It was a lonely death for the dying one, even though she had these two good friends with her. He who had loved, and loved her still, so well, could not be there to hear her last words on earth. She must lay her head in other arms than his, and give up her soul to God, without a farewell word from him, without one prayer together uttered, that God would hasten the time of their meeting in that land where partings are unknown. No! She must die without the presence of her nearest, dearest one on earth, while he was beating out upon the great waters of the ocean.

In the morning after Harry had started for school, Mrs Campbell, in a violent fit of coughing, had broken a blood-vessel. In her present state this meant speedy and certain death. And Dr Bromley, when he returned home, after having seen her, had told his wife that Mrs Campbell could not last more than two or three hours. So, sending at once to the Grammar-School to request Doctor Palmer to allow Harry to go home immediately, the tender-hearted Mrs Bromley started for the farm.

And there she sat reading and speaking words of comfort to the dying wife, watching and fearing each moment would be the last. She was Mrs Campbell's only friend save Mrs Valentine. It is true the vicar had been to visit her several times, but under such painful circumstances the absence of one so near and dear as her husband made her almost inconsolable. Her parents had both been dead some years, and she was their only child. And as it often happens, while so many people have relations in numbers almost too abundant, she had none. Her only great friends were in Malta, friends whom she had known in the dear old days, when all seemed so bright and hopeful before her. It was therefore but natural that she should cling to the doctor's good wife; and thus their friendship, born as it was of a time of sorrow and suffering, was one of pure and holy comfort to them both.

And the morning crept on, with words of heaven softly uttered by the living, and drunk in with eager ears by the dying; and outside the birds sang, and the green trees whispered, stretching out their tiny leaf-hands to the caressant breezes, and all was summery there without,—all was sunshine and gladness. And through the heedless village ran Harry, heart-broken and afraid, and entered, from the brightness, his mother's peaceful room of death. He was past all crying now. The tears seemed dried up in one great burning spot within his brain. He stood quietly by the bed, longing to hear that well-known voice, but not daring to speak; she lay so still he scarcely knew whether she were alive or really dead.

"Here is Harry, dear Mrs Campbell," said the doctor's wife; "he has come from school. Don't you know him? Here he is."

She turned her large grey eyes upon her boy for some time without recognising him. Then, at last, opening her arms, said:

"Harry, darling, is that you? I'm going away now—going to heaven. You'll always be a good boy, won't you?"

"Mamma, mamma, you do believe I'm innocent, don't you?" said Harry. He could not let her die without hearing once more from own lips her trustful confidence in him.

"Yes, darling boy, I know you have spoken the truth. Kiss me now," she whispered, her voice growing weaker. "Good-bye, darling Harry; God bless you! Good-bye, dear Mrs Bromley. Good-bye, Mrs Valentine. God will reward you!" And then her voice was hardly audible as she murmured to herself, "Buried at Wilton, and Alan will come and see my grave. Alan, darling Alan, God is taking me home." And then as a heavenly light shone through her eyes, her voice regained its strength. "Into thy hand, O Lord I commend my spirit!" and so she died.

Harry's face was pressed close to hers, and his burning tears now fell thick upon the lifeless cheek.

"Oh! mamma, mamma," he sobbed, "what shall I do? what shall I do?"

And, sinking on the floor, he wept as though his heart would break. Mrs Bromley and the farmer's wife were too much wrapt in their own grief to stir to comfort him. So the three wept there together, in the quiet little farm beside old Wilton church; while she, for whom