He was conducted into a great hall, up a noble staircase, through several elegant rooms, filled with beautiful and costly things, strange enough to poor Robert, but his eyes were too full of tears and his heart of grief to notice them. A chamber door was opened softly before him, and Robert saw his friend lying on a couch by the window, with his head resting in his mother's lap. His eyes were closed, and his face so deathly pale that Robert thought he had come too late, and staggering forward, he fell at the young lord's feet, and hiding his face against them, sobbed aloud. "Dear Robert; have you come?" said a low, sweet voice. "Yes, my lord," answered Robert, joyfully. "Oh, _won't_ you call me _Arthur_, now that I am dying?" said his friend. "Arthur, _dear Arthur_," murmured Robert, and that was all that he could say for weeping. After awhile, Lord Evremond, looking up to his mother and clasping Robert's hand, said: "Mamma, I leave _you_ Robert; love him and take care of him; send him to school, and let him have just such an education as you would have given to me. Promise me that you will, dear mamma." "Yes, Arthur, my beloved child, I promise but oh, my son, my darling only boy, how can I part with you!" "Dearest mother, only think, it is for but a little while, and then we shall all be together. Kiss me now, and let me sleep, I feel so drowsy." And he did sleep, for some time, very peacefully, smiling sweetly, as though dreaming pleasant dreams. Suddenly he opened his eyes, and reached up his arms, calling out joyfully: "Papa! sister Mary!" and died without a pang of suffering. Ten years had passed. It was Sunday morning, and the church bell of Evremond was calling the people to worship. All were eager to see and hear the new minister, who was to preach his first sermon that day. Out of the pleasant Rectory he came, supporting an elderly lady on his arm. It was Robert Selwyn and his mother. At the church door they met a lady, who grasped them both by the hand. This was Lady Evremond. Robert Selwyn performed the sacred rites with dignity and true feeling, and preached a noble discourse, such an one as makes men's hearts strong against sin, but soft toward the erring. After the services, when all save she had left the church, Lady Evremond lingered for some time before a white marble monument, which stood under a high church window. The sculpture on this monument represented the young Lord Evremond, as he lay on his couch, when dying,--and an angel, with a face very like his, lovingly lifting him from his mother's arms, to bear him to heaven. As Lady Evremond gazed on the marble image of her dead boy, she murmured: "Have I not been true to thy trust, my son?"