"Pierce said last night that he gave you to me to take care of," said the poor boy huskily, and as he said it Pierce opened his eyes and smiled at him. "You are the head of the house," he said slowly. "You will be what I failed in being." Then he closed his eyes, and Aline allowed herself to be fed by spoonfuls with the jelly. About three o'clock in the afternoon Pierce seemed to rally. He looked round at us all with calm seeing eyes, and seemed to know us quite well. His lethargy had passed away for the moment. He turned to Aline, and looked at her with great tenderness. "I wish you would find out Desmond," he said, "and let him know that I loved him at the last, and that I knew he was right, and thanked him." "I will do it, Pierce," said Aline. "I wanted to say more," he said, "but I am too tired to think." Then he smiled on us all round, and fell asleep smiling. We thought he would have died in that sleep, but he did not. The clock in the stable-yard had just struck five when he opened his eyes, full and wide, and gazed upwards. "_Remember me_," he cried, "_when Thou art come into Thy kingdom._" And then a film seemed to settle on the brightness, and the light slowly faded out. CHAPTER XVI. HONEY AMONG THE ROSES. That was the loneliest summer that ever I remember. Soon after Pierce had left us, Lady O'Brien carried Aline and Esther off to Kilkee. Aline bore her sorrow bravely, with more hope and faith than we had dared to expect; but if you have been building all your thoughts and cares and wishes and anxieties about one human being for nearly all your years, and then you are bereft, the empty place is terrible. Even our Lord Himself endured desolation, and He does not spare it to His creatures though He walk with them through the shadows. There had been some talk of my going after a time, when Aline should return. Lady O'Brien had taken her cottage till the end of September. But I begged her to keep Aline and let me stay at home,--I knew Aline's mind would be at rest while I was in charge,--and I had my wish. But, oh, the unutterable loneliness of it! It was a beautiful summer, with long, long days of haze and heat, and evenings that trailed themselves out, I thought, unduly long. There was no excuse for firelit and lamplit evenings. By the time the moon had come out in the green sky, and the last wood-dove had gone to bed, it was time for me to follow. I have always associated the call of the wood-quest, as we call it, with the loneliness of that summer. As the woods grew dark with their prime, and the love-songs of the blackbird were stilled, that lonely complaint of the dove seemed to brood over all the world. The children say it is the bird's lament for the smallness of her family. "The robin and the wren have nine and ten, And I have only two--oo--oo."