feeble grasp. He stroked the little bloodless hand, and kissed
repeatedly the wasted cheek, uttering at the same time low murmurs of
entreaty that she would look upon him once more before she died. All
in vain. Utterly still and unresponsive as death itself, she lay
before him. "Dear mother," he implored, "it is your son, your own
Edward that calls you. Can you not hear? Will you not come back to me
a single moment? Ah, I cannot let you go; I cannot, I cannot!" His
voice sank in a passionate murmur of grief. "You will look at me once,
will you not? Oh, mother, mother, mother!"

He had fallen to his knees, with his face on the pillow close to hers,
and his last words smote upon her ear like the inarticulate wail of an
infant whose life must perish along with the strong sustaining life of
her who gave it birth. The head turned ever so slightly, the eyelids
quivered faintly and lifted, and her eyes looked fully and tenderly
upon her son. Then, with a mighty effort, she raised one transparent
hand, and brought it feebly, flutteringly, higher and higher, until
it lay upon his cheek. A strange faint light of unearthly sweetness
played about her lips. It was a light as sweet and beautiful as
her own life had been, but now it paled and faded--brightened
again--flickered a moment--and then went out forever.

The sad sound of children weeping broke the silence of the
death-chamber. Edward still knelt, and Rose was bowed with grief; but
the old Commodore's courageous voice sounded as though wrung from the
depths of his sorely-stricken heart:

"The Lord gave, and the Lord--" his tongue failed him, but after a
momentary struggle he continued in shaking tones--"and the Lord taketh
away. _Blessed_--"