“The desire of thine eyes!” repeated Bernard. “How often I thought of that last February.” It was the only time he had referred to the loss of his little boy. His wife had told her mother that he could not bear to mention it, and had poured out all her own feelings of sorrow and her struggle for cheerfulness and resignation alone with her or with Mysie; but he had shrunk from the least allusion to the little two year old Felix, who slept beneath a palm tree at Colombo. Now, however, still holding his sister’s hand, he drifted into all the particulars of the little ways, the baby language, the dawning understanding, and the very sudden sharp illness carrying the beautiful boy away almost before they were aware of danger; and he took out the photograph from his breast, and showed her the little face, so recalling old fond remembrances. “Forbear to cry, make no mourning for the dead,” he repeated. “Yes, the boy is saved the wear and tear and heat and burthen of the day, but it is very hard to be thankful.” “Ah, and it is all the harder if you have to leave your Lily.” “If—yes; but Travis _may_ so arrange that we can stay, or I make only one voyage out to settle matters and then come home for good. If you are still bent on Carrigaboola you might come as far as Frisco with me. I may have to go there about the Californian affairs.” “That would be jolly. Yes, I think it will clench the matter, for I believe I am of more good at Carriga than anywhere else, though the heart of it is taken out of it for me; but one lives on and gets on somehow without a heart, or a heart set where I suppose it ought not to be entirely at least! And, indeed, I think that little one taught me better than ever before how to love.” “That’s what the creatures are sent us for,” said Bernard, in a low voice. “And here are, looming in the distance, all the posse of girls to meet us.” “Ah-h!” breathed Angela, withdrawing her arm. “Well, Bear, you have given me something to look forward to, whether it comes to anything or not. It will help me to be thankful. I know they are good people, and the child will do well when once the pining and bracing are over. They are her own people, and it is right.” “Right you are, Angel!” said Bernard, with a fresh squeeze of the hand, as he resumed his own cheerful, resolute voice ere joining his sisters-in-law. “What! Angela without her satellite!” cried Primrose. “Too far,” murmured Angela; but Mysie tried to hush her sister, perceiving the weaning process, and respecting Angela for it. And the next moment Angela was challenging Bernard to a game at golf. CHAPTER XXV—BEAR AS ADVISER “Weary soul and burthened sore Labouring with thy secret load.” —KEBLE.