This, though, was not her only reason for going. She wanted to be alone, away from him for a moment, to try and recover herself, and face this new shock. "Miss Patch," she cried in a tone of agony, "I believe Charlie is worse, he seems so quiet, and so tired, and--and--Oh, Miss Patch, what shall I do! He _must_ get better, he must, he must." But the tears came into Miss Patch's eyes too, and she had little comfort to offer. She had long had grave fears, and though she had tried to put them aside, she had never quite succeeded. But Jessie had to control herself, for Charlie was waiting for her. "When these fogs are gone, and the spring comes, and the sunshine," she said, trying to pluck up hope, "he will be better, I am sure." "This weather certainly tries the strongest," said Miss Patch, with a sigh. "We will hope for the best, dear. We all of us have our bad days, don't we? Charlie may be much better to-morrow; we must try to keep his spirits up, and make him as cheerful and happy as we can." But Jessie, as she went down the stairs again, wondered how that would be possible when she herself felt so far from being either. Christmas came and went, and the spring came, but without bringing to Charlie the strength and health that Jessie prayed for so earnestly for him. He never again went up to Miss Patch's room to Sunday-school, so Miss Patch came down to him, and read or sang to him, just as he wished. They had no lessons now, for he could not bear even that slight strain, and, as Miss Patch said, with tears trickling down her worn cheeks-- "What good is my teaching now? He will soon know more than any of us. We can only help and strengthen him for the last hard steps of his journey." And Tom Salter, to whom she spoke, said huskily-- "You'd be a help to anybody, miss; don't 'ee give way now, don't 'ee give way," and all the time he was wiping the back of his hand across his own wet eyes. "'Tisn't _his_ journey that'll be the hardest and stormiest, I'm thinking," added Tom, "'tis those he'll leave behind. Who is going to break it to his mother? She doesn't seem to see it for herself--though how she can help it is past my understanding." Poor Miss Patch's hands shook, and her tears fell faster. "I can't, I can't," she murmured, "but yet--I suppose I ought--there's nobody else to do it." It was Charlie himself, though, who saved her that pain. "Mother," he said one evening, when she came to get him ready for the night, "would you be very unhappy if I went away from you?" "What do you mean?" she cried, in sudden fear. "You--you--" "Would you, mother?" he persisted. "Be unhappy! Why, I should break my heart--you are all I have to care for, or live for, or--"