“Children, I do not like these partings. They always sadden my heart. They make me long for that life where partings shall be no more. Oh, my dear ones, do you all strive on to attain to that blessed life! Think what would be our woeful grief--if such can assail us there; if memory of the past may be allowed us--should we find any one of our dear ones absent--of you who now stand around me! I speak to you all--not more to one than to another--absent through his own fault, his own sin, his own carelessness! Oh, children! you cannot tell my love for you--my anxious care!--lest any of you should lose this inconceivable blessing. Work on; strive on; and if we never meet again here--” “Oh, papa, papa,” wildly sobbed Annabel, “we shall meet again! You will come back well.” “I trust we shall! I do trust I may! God is ever merciful and good. All I would say is, that my life is uncertain; that, if it be His will not to spare me, I shall have but preceded you to that better land. My blessing be upon you, my children! God’s blessing be upon you! Fare you well.” In the bustle of getting Mr. Channing to the fly, Arthur was left alone with his mother. She clung to him, sobbing much. Even her faith in him was shaken. When the rupture occurred between Mr. Yorke and Constance, Arthur never spoke up to say: “There is no cause for parting; I am not guilty.” Mrs. Channing was not the only one who had expected him to say this, or something equivalent to it; and she found her expectation vain. Arthur had maintained a studied silence; of course it could only tell against him. “Mother! my darling mother! I would ask you to trust me still, but that I see how difficult it is for you!” he said, as hot tears were wrung from his aching heart. Hamish came in. Arthur, not caring to exhibit his emotion for every one’s benefit, retired to a distant window. “My father is in, all comfortable,” said Hamish. “Mother, are you sure you have everything?” “Everything, I believe.” “Well--put this into your private purse, mother mine. You’ll find some use for it.” It was a ten-pound note. Mrs. Channing began protesting that she should have enough without it. “Mrs. Channing, I know your ‘enoughs,’” laughed Hamish, in his very gayest and lightest tone. “You’ll be for going without dinner every other day, fearing that funds won’t last. If you don’t take it, I shall send it after you to-morrow.” “Thank you, my dear, considerate boy!” she gratefully said, as she put up the money, which would, in truth, prove useful. “But how have you been able to get it for me?” “As if a man could not save up his odd sixpences for a rainy day!” quoth Hamish. She implicitly believed him. She had absolute faith in her darling Hamish; and the story of his embarrassments had not reached her ear. Arthur heard all from his distant window. “For that very money, given to my mother as a gift from _him_, I must suffer,” was the rebellious thought that ran through his mind.