"I am glad the boys have both entered upon their careers," she said to Mr. Wycherly, in her kind, weak voice, as he sat by her bed the night she died, "I shall tell Archie what dear, good lads they are—and that poor young mother I never saw. I can tell her how proud she would have been, how proud she may be—but perhaps she knows," and Miss Esperance gave a little sigh as though she would have liked to be the first to bear this pleasing intelligence. Then putting the thought from her as savouring of selfishness, she continued, "I’m sure she knows, but she’ll be glad to hear it again: just as I am, when people praise them to me, who know so well how dear they are." Mr. Wycherly could not speak, but his hand tightened on the weak little hand he held. "I would like to have seen Montagu again," she said wistfully. "He is such a kind boy. But it is so far and he has only just gone back, and my bonnie wee Edmund, too. It is better as it is. I have you—and what is far more important, they have you.... I have indeed been wonderfully blest. I used to look forward with such dread to a lonely death-bed with no kind hand to hold mine at the last, but the Lord has been very merciful. His merciful kindness is great toward us...." The faint, whispering voice died away into silence. The fluttering in the frail small hand was stilled. And Mr. Wycherly was left alone, for Miss Esperance had gone on. A month later Mr. Wycherly went back to Oxford. Miss Esperance left all she was possessed of to him, in trust for the boys, with the exception of a hundred pounds to Robina; and to Montagu, her lace, her jewels—such humble, old-fashioned trinkets they were—and her miniatures, "in memory of his great kindness to me when I was ill." Mr. Wycherly took a tall, old house in Holywell Street, close to his college, and there the boys always came to spend their holidays. The quaint three, so strangely linked together by fate and affection, aroused benevolent curiosity and interest in the minds of friendly dons and their families. In fact, the curious household was largely managed by outsiders when the boys were at home. But they loved each other greatly and it is that alone "which maketh light all that is burthensome and equally bears all that is unequal. For it carrieth a burthen without being burthened and maketh all that which is bitter sweet and savoury."