What recks he more of the throbbing and singing in his aching head--the sounds as of rushing waters? Is it not all explained? It is the voice of many waters and the voice of the great multitude, singing the wondrous song which only they can sing! The preacher heard it that Sunday morning; did he not say, "I heard a voice from heaven"? and Humphrey hears it now! Imperfectly as yet it sounds upon his ear, faintly the echoes are borne to him, but it will sound more clearly soon! It was not in vain that the old clergyman had warmed and glowed with his subject, and by the very earnestness of his own feeling carried his little hearer with him; for his words, though they had lain dormant during the weeks which followed, apparently wasted and forgotten, were, by the power of association, rising when they were needed to bless and soothe his death-bed. Faint is the heart of the preacher, oftentimes, as he watches his congregation disperse; for he fears that his words, even though they chained the minds of his hearers for the moment, will pass away as they pass the threshold, and be lost in the worldly interests which meet them at the very door. And yet it may be, that all unknown to him, perhaps in the very hearts he would least have expected, his words have taken root, and will bear fruit some day. Deep silence reigned in the room, while the two men watched the child. It was very long before he spoke again, but when he did, it was evident that he was not himself. "It is getting very dark," he murmured, and Sir Everard's heart sank within him, for the sun was only just beginning to set. "It is time for us to go to bed. Where's Miles?" For a few brief moments the throbbing has ceased, and with its cessation, voices and visions have fled away. Sir Everard stole away to fetch the little fellow, and found him in his nightgown repeating his evening prayer to Virginie. With a few hasty explanations, Sir Everard took him in his arms, and carried him away. "But, Fardie," said Miles, as they hurried downstairs "I hadn't quite finished; I have not said my hymn." "Never mind, darling! you shall say it to Humphrey to-night." He carried him gently into the drawing room, and set him down upon the sofa. Miles was frightened at the silence and darkness, and nestled up closer to his brother. "Humphie! Humphie! wake up and give me your hand." "Don't be frightened, Miles," murmured Humphrey, dreamily: "come close to me, I'll take care of you." He strove to move to the edge of the sofa, as if he thought his little brother's bed was close up against it, and he threw his feeble arm round Miles in the dear old protecting way. "We won't talk much to-night, Miles, because I'm so very sleepy. Good-night." He said something faintly about seeing his mother, but Miles couldn't catch the words. "Didn't quite understand, Humphie." Something of a movement of impatience passed over Humphrey's face. "Of course you don't--because--you can't--remember her."