‘Ah, but love?’ says Susan. ‘He has been so used to love! And now he will not have me. Mr. Crosby’—clasping her hands together as if to keep the trembling of them from him—‘try—try to love him! He is so sweet, so dear, that it can’t be hard—and—and——’ She stops; her face is as white as death. ‘I would to God, Susan,’ says he, ‘that you could have come with us too; but that—that was impossible.’ ‘I know—I know. And, of course, I sound very ungrateful; but he is so ill, so fragile, so near to——’ She shivers, as if some horrid pain had touched her. ‘And it is to me he has turned for everything up to this. And to-morrow’—suddenly she lifts her hands to her face, and breaks down altogether—‘oh, who will dress him to-morrow?’ * * * * * The end has almost come. Bonnie has said good-bye to his father and all the rest of them, and is now clinging to Susan and crying bitterly. Poor Susan! she is very pale, and is visibly trembling as she holds the child to her with all her strength, as though to let him go is almost impossible to her; but she holds back her tears bravely, afraid of distressing him further. ‘I told you I should have taken you with us,’ says Crosby in a low tone to Susan, more with a view to lightening the situation than anything else. But the situation is made of material too heavy to be blown aside by any such light wind. Susan pays no heed to him. He is quite aware, indeed, after a moment, that Susan neither sees nor hears him. She is holding the child against her heart, and breathing into his ear broken words of love and hope and courage. At last the final moment comes. Crosby has shaken hands with Mr. Barry, who is looking paler and more gaunt than usual, for at least the fourth time, and has now come to the carriage in which Susan has placed Bonnie, having wrapped him warmly round with rugs. Betty is standing near her. ‘Good-bye,’ says Crosby, holding out his hand to Betty, who is crying softly. ‘Oh, good-bye,’ cries she, flinging her arms round his neck and giving him a little hug. ‘We shall never forget this of you—never!’ ‘I shall bring him back,’ says he, smiling. He pats her shoulder—dear little girl!—and turns to Susan. ‘Don’t be unhappy,’ he whispers hurriedly. ‘You spoke of love for him. I shall love him! I shall never let him out of my sight, Susan. I swear that to you. You believe me? You will take comfort?’ ‘I believe you,’ says Susan, lifting her miserable eyes to his, ‘and I trust you.’ ‘Good-bye, then.’ ‘Good-bye. I heard what you said to Betty. You will bring him back—that is a promise.’ ‘With the help of God I’ll bring him back to you,’ says Crosby solemnly. ‘And now, good-bye again.’