The sun, which had been journeying down the western sky, now touched the top of Lonely Mountain, and immediately all its side was robed in purple velvet, and its long summit tipped with gold. Still farther sank the monarch; and now he was out of sight. Then rose such a splendor of color in the west that it flooded even this quiet room across the valley, turning the old paper on the walls into cloth of gold, and Scar's flaxen hair into a little halo. The Major was now awake; he moved his easy-chair to the open window in order to see the sunset. Scar got another chair, climbed up, and sat down beside him. "I think, papa," he said, after some moments of silence, during which he had meditatively watched the glow--"I think it very probable that the little children who have to die young live over in that particular part of heaven. For those beautiful colors would amuse them, you know; and they must be very lonely up in the sky, without their fathers and mothers." "Fathers and mothers die too, sometimes, my boy," answered the Major, his eyes turning misty. He took Scar's little hand, and held it in his own. His wife came up behind him and laid her hand on his shoulder. The old Major looked up at her as she stood by his chair, with a great trust and affection in his dim glance. For of late the Major had been growing older rapidly; his eyes were losing their clearness of vision; there were now many sounds he could not hear. But he always heard every intonation of her voice; always saw the hue of her dress, and any little change in its arrangement. Where she was concerned, his dulled senses were young again. "My sister Sara is coming," announced Scar. "I can see her. I can see the top of her bonnet above the hedge, because she is so tall." And soon the girl's figure appeared in sight. She opened the gate, and came up the path towards the front door. Scar leaned forward and waved his hand. She returned his greeting, looking at the group of three in the window--father, mother, and child. The Major could not see his daughter, but he turned his face in the direction of the path and gave a little bow and smile. "She has been gone a long time," he said to his wife; "almost all day." His wife did not reply; she had left the room. She met Sara in the hall. "I have come back for you, mamma," whispered the girl. "I think the time has come." "I will go immediately," said Madam Carroll, walking quickly towards the stairs. Then she stopped. "But how can I? You would have to go with me. And at this hour the Major would notice it. He would notice it if we should both leave him. It would trouble him." She looked at Sara as she stood uttering these sentences. Though her voice was quiet, the suffering in her eyes was pitiable to see. "Go, mamma. For this one time do not mind that. Judith will be here."