inquiries for him day by day. It then became more fully apparent than
ever, that, although Edwin was among them without being _of_ them, no
boy in the school was more deeply honored and fondly loved than he. Even
the elastic spirits of boyhood could not quite throw off the shadow of
gloom which his illness cast over the school.

Very tenderly they nursed him. All that human kindness could do was done
for him by the stranger hands. And yet not all; poor Edwin had no
father, no mother, hardly any relatives. His only aunt, Mrs. Upton,
would have come to nurse him, but she was an invalid, and he was often
left alone in his delirium and agony.

Alone, yet not alone. There was One with him--always in his thoughts,
always leading, guiding, blessing him unseen--not deserting the hurt
lamb of his flock; one who was once a boy himself, and who, when he was
a boy, did his Father's business, and was subject unto his parents in
the obscure home of the despised village. Alone! nay, to them whose
eyes were opened, the room of sickness and pain was thronged and
beautiful with angelic presences.

Often did Eric, and Upton, and Montagu, talk of their loved friend.
Eric's life seemed absorbed in the thought of him, and in passionate,
unspeakable longings for his recovery. Now he valued more than ever the
sweet remembered hours spent with him; their games, and communnings, and
walks, and Russell's gentle influence, and brave, kindly rebukes. Yet he
must not even see him, must not whisper one word of soothing to him in
his anguish; he could only pray for him, and that he did with a depth
of hope.

At last Upton, in virtue of his relationship, was allowed to visit him.