"Dear little friend," he said with a deep tenderness, "I wish that I could do all your suffering for you. I only heard of your mother's illness today. I hastened to her home to inquire concerning her. The maid told me that she was very low. I saw your father and he asked me to come to you." Edith paled, but her eyes shone brightly. "You should not have delayed a moment in telling me, George," she said gravely. "I will hurry quickly." "You look pale. Will you allow me to accompany you?" "Thank you, yes," she replied, hastily leaving the room and returning dressed for the street. "It's only a few minutes' walk. Your father will be glad to see you so soon." "Dear father!" exclaimed Edith. "He is far from well. I hope this relapse will be shorter than the last. I think mother bears these spells wonderfully well, don't you?" He met her direct questioning glance, and he dared not meet it with an untruth. He must tell her now--there was no alternative. "Would you not be glad when the time comes that will free your mother from these awful spells of agony? If she lives, she cannot be free." "O, you do think there is doubt of her final recovery?" she asked fearfully. "I do, indeed. How thankful we ought to be to have her at rest," he replied. They were about to leave the house. She would need time to calm herself before going to her new scene of grief. He drew her arm through his and gazed down into her face with a great fondness. "Dear girl, be brave. You must meet the inevitable with all the resistance of your womanhood." He waited for her to speak, but she was looking up at him in dumb despair. His whole heart seemed conveyed in his next words. "Edith, as I entered your old home, your mother passed to rest." Edith stood quite still. Her words came in little gasps. You--mean--that--mother--is--gone?" "Yes," he said softly. But your father awaits you. Be brave. We must hasten. He needs you more than ever now!" She gave a smothered cry and tried to obey. But it was a futile effort. With a heart-rending mute appeal, she leaned toward him. He was eagerly ready. He caught her in his arms. A deadly pallor overspread her sweet, fair face. Her eyes closed. He looked down at her deathlike countenance, then gently carried her to the couch. "His in joy," he murmured, "and mine in sorrow." ***** CHAPTER XIII. Friendship's Claim. "Harold, you are getting to be quite a little man. I'm afraid you'll be one before I get my plans made for you. How would you like to go away to that military academy that I spoke of?" The boy's eyes flashed and he looked up at George Cadman with keenest delight. With the exception of deep-set eyes like Will's, he was the exact miniature of Alma. The three: George, Alma and Harold--were sitting at the supper table in Alma's cozy dining-room.