The pale sunlight came, and flickered, and went; but she lay to all seeming unchanged. Her pulse's beat was failing--failing; the broken heart feebly struggling to its rest; but her sad eyes were still the same, appealing, questioning, rebuking--all without hope of answer or explanation. So were they when the sobbing fishermen lifted her from the body, so would they be until closed for the last sleep. It was very cruel. My father's body lay in the room below, with Uncle Loveday and Mrs. Busvargus for watchers. Now and again my uncle would steal softly upstairs, and as softly return with hopelessness upon his face. The clock downstairs gave the only sound I heard, as it marked the footsteps of the dark angel coming nearer and nearer. Twice my mother's lips parted as if to speak; but though I bent down to catch her words, I could hear no sound. So, as I sat and watched her waxen face, all the sweet memories of her came back in a sad, reproachful train. Once more we sat together by the widowed hearth, reading: once more we stood upon the rocky edge of Pedn-glas and looked into the splendours of the summer sunset "for father's ship:" once more we knelt together in Polkimbra Church, and prayed for his safe return: once more I heard that sweet, low voice--once more? Ah, never, never more! Uncle Loveday stole into the room on tip-toe, and looked at her; then turned and asked-- "Has she spoken yet?" "No." He was about to leave when the lips parted again, and this time she spoke-- "He is coming, coming. Hush! that is his step!" The dark eyes were ablaze with expectation: the pale cheek aglow with hope. I bent down over the bed, for her voice was very low. "He is coming, I know it. Listen! Oh, husband, come quicker, quicker!" Alas! poor saint, the step you listen for has gone before, and is already at the gate of heaven. "He is here! Oh, husband, husband, you have come for me!" A moment she sat up with arms outstretched, and glory in her face; then fell back, and the arms that caught her were the arms of God. After the first pang of bereavement had spent itself, Uncle Loveday got me to bed, and there at last I slept. The very bewilderment of so much sorrow enforced sleep, and sleep was needed: so that, worn out with watching and excitement, I had not so much as a dream to trouble me. It was ten o'clock in the morning when I awoke, and saw my uncle sitting beside the bed. Another sun was bright in the heavens outside: the whole world looked so calm and happy that my first impulse was to leap up and run, as was my custom, to mother's room. Then my eyes fell on Uncle Loveday, and the whole dreadful truth came surging into my awakened brain. I sank back with a low moan upon the pillow. Uncle Loveday, who had been watching me, stepped to the bed and took my hand. "Jasper, boy, are you better?" After a short struggle with my grief, I plucked up heart to answer that I was.