Midnight passed, and still the sorrowful watch lasted. One o’clock struck, and still he came not; and still the face on the pillow grew grayer and more deathlike. Two o’clock passed, and yet all was as it had been. Towards half-past two, Mary, going softly to the window, raised a corner of the blind, and beheld the first flush of dawn in the east, as it may be seen at that hour on a June morning. Her heavy eyes looked across the houses, across the town, to where the pure sky, with a cool, bright light, showed the ridges of the moors. She looked back into the room. Harry’s eyes had followed her, and hung upon her face; and Edmund’s eyes too were opened, wide, bright, and clear. His voice had regained a last flicker of strength, as he said distinctly, ‘Wind up the blind, Molly, and open the window a bit. Let _me_ see the sun rise.’ Speechless, Mary complied. A waft of pure, fresh morning air was borne into the room through the open window. Then there was a pause. From where he lay, Edmund could see the broadening rose flush in the east, and then suddenly the chimes from the spire rang out; three was solemnly tolled, and in a moment there rang out upon the sleeping town, resting from its troubles, the sweet old tune, ‘Life let us cherish!’ Mary heard the tune, ‘Myles’s tune,’ as she called it, and wondered longingly where he was. She returned to the bedside, and Harry went to the window. Edmund had closed his eyes again, and another quarter had chimed, when Harry exclaimed, ‘He’s there! He’s coming!’ In a few moments more Myles stood in the room. There were very few words more. They all stood round the bed, and Edmund held his brother’s hand. In the watching him, the others had no time to notice the haggard look on Myles’s face. Day grew broader, and life waned. Four was chimed melodiously; the first stir of life was audible, as Edmund quietly breathed his last. Mary was sobbing--the sunrise was over--and day, full, glowing, and brilliant, poured in upon the dead face. CHAPTER XIV. DUST AND ASHES. The day that followed was naturally a sad one. Mary was too much occupied in mourning her loss to notice Myles as she otherwise might have done. Harry left the house about five o’clock, promising to call again about dinner-time. A friendly neighbour came in and helped Mary to perform all that remained to be done for the dead. At last all was finished. The woman had gone, and Mary paused as she left the room, looking round it with a kind of sorrowful pride. It looked very white, and pure, and still. She had drawn the blind down and set everything in the most exquisite order. The dead figure lay stretched out in its eternal repose, with calm, beautiful face, and quietly closed eyes. At the door she returned, and ran up to the bedside, and kissed the cold forehead. ‘Poor lad! poor lad!’ she whispered between her tears, ‘thine has been a hard life, but thou’rt in heaven now, if ever anybody was.’