Let us next ascend the staircase, and, passing along the corridor, open the door of the Earl's room. Here another sad sight awaits us. On his dying bed, supported by pillows, he sits up, his two hands placed on Augusta's fair hair; she kneels beside her expiring parent, and weeps with wild despair. A beautiful girl of eleven, she is early called to suffer bereavement! Her mother lies cold below,--her father lies sinking before her. No marvel the poor child weeps! She is losing a fond father,--has lost a fond mother. Beside her stands the tall, stalwart Marquis of Arranmore. His face is buried in his hands. He is losing a dear friend and brother! At the foot of the couch kneels the clergyman, at the side of Mr. Ravensworth, offering a prayer to heaven to support and comfort in the hour of death, and look with pity on the orphan. He is losing a kind patron. Near the door are grouped the weeping servants. They are losing a generous master. There is one other occupant of the chamber,--the Earl's Newfoundland dog. That dumb animal knows well his lord is dying, and with wistful glance watches his every movement. On a small table beside the bed are the sacred Elements, about to be administered. All are silent. Nought is heard save the subdued weeping of men, and the unrestrained sobs of the only representative of woman, poor little Augusta. That still silence is broken. Who speaks? The dying man. Every ear is attentive,--every heart responsive as he speaks! "Andrew, you have ever been a faithful servant to me; when I am gone, for my sake, be a faithful servant--nay friend--to my child!" "Gude bless you! I will--I will!" cried the poor old man. "But, oh! it is a sair trial to lose you, my good master!" "I say the same to you, Philip, and the rest. Adieu to you all." The Earl ceased. Again the voice of weeping was heard. Poor old Andrew came forward and pressed his master's hand to his lips, then retired, whispering the rest to follow him, leaving only the family in the room. "And now, my little Augusta, your papa is dying, love! You will be an orphan, my child; but the God of the fatherless will be your God! Promise me, darling, to seek early that friend,--the only friend on the bed of death. Kiss me, love. And I am sure your uncle will be a kind uncle to you when your papa is no more. Farewell, my little Augusta, God bless and keep you!" Another pause:--then, addressing the Marquis, he continued: "You will be a father to my child when she is left an orphan. Oh! bring her up so that she may resemble her sainted mother. And you, my dear Ravensworth, you, too, will remember my daughter's spiritual welfare. You are her Godfather. Oh! act up to your sacred office! I should like to see you alone, Arranmore, now,--only a few moments, and then I will receive the Communion." At the hint Mr. Ravensworth led Augusta from the room to an ante-chamber, whither he and Mr. Power also retired.