"Oh, dear! And he can never kiss me again, or bring me new dolls! I broke the last one in two, and threw it at him." Her eyes filled with tears. Bede, deep in thought, put away the little hands that had fastened on his arms. "I liked him better than you, Bede. What made him die?" "Bede! Bede! is that you?" called out his mother. Bede had to go in. Mrs. Greatorex was on the sofa, dressed, her back supported by pillows. Her complexion was of dark olive, showing her Spanish extraction; a capable, kindly woman she had ever been in life; and was endeavouring now to meet the death that she knew could not be far off, as a Christian should. He stooped and kissed her. In features he resembled her more than any of her children. "Do you feel better, mother?" "My dear, you know that there can be no 'better' for me here. The pain is not heavy today. Have you just come up to town?" "Just got in now." "And what have you to tell me? I cannot _believe_ that John is dead. When the telegram came yesterday morning, your father happened to be with me, and they brought it up. But for that, I dare say he would not have told me yet. He spares me all the trouble that he can, you know, dear. I fainted, Bede; I did indeed. The death must have been very sudden." "Yes," replied Bede. "Was it a fit? Jane, run to the schoolroom. Your governess will be angry at your staying away so long." Jane's answer to this mandate was to perch herself on the arm of the sofa, side by side with the speaker, and to fix her eyes and her attention on the face of Bede. "None of the Olliveras have been subject to fits; remember that, Bede," continued Mrs. Greatorex. "Neither did John himself look at all likely for one. To think that he should go before me! Jane, my little dear one, you must indeed go to Miss Ford." "I am going to stay here, grand'ma, and to hear about John." "There's nothing much to hear, or to tell," spoke Bede, as much perhaps for his mother's ear as for the child's. "If you do not obey your grandmamma, Jane, I shall take you myself to the schoolroom. "No, you won't, Bede. Why don't you answer grand'ma about John?" Mrs. Greatorex had nearly left off contending with Miss Jane; weary, sick, in pain, it was too much effort, and she generally yielded to the dominant little will. As she appeared to do now, for it was to Bede she spoke. "Bede, dear, you are keeping me in suspense. Was it a fit?" "No; it could not be called a fit." "The heart, perhaps?" "His death must have been quite sudden," said Bede, with pardonable evasion. "Instantaneous, the doctors thought: and therefore without pain." "Poor John! poor John! The veil is lifted for him. Bede!" Bede had begun to turn his attention to the young lady, and was putting her down from the sofa. He wheeled round at the word, and Miss Jane mounted again. "What, mother?"