"I am going to God," said Mr Brooke. "It is a wonderful happiness that I am soon to be admitted into the presence of the King of Kings. There is no saying, Annie, what marvels will be revealed to me and what glories mine eyes shall look upon. I shall see in His good time the Saviour of the world. When I am ready for that sight of all sights, it will be given to me. But, my own little Annie, even in that moment of satisfaction, when I wake up after His likeness, I shall carry you, my child, in my heart of hearts. I shall look for you, my little one. You will come to me--not yet, my darling, for you are very young, but some day. Promise me, my dearest dear." Annie's choked voice sounded low and faint. "I cannot hear you, my sweetest. Say the word I want--say the word I want to take away with me." "What shall I say, Uncle Maurice?" "Say `Yes'--one word, my darling, that I may carry it with me into the great eternity of God." "Yes--oh, yes!" said Annie. "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace," said the old man. Then the Angel of Death did open wide his glorious wings, and two bright spirits passed out of that room where one had come in. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. VERY DARK DAYS. Mr Brooke's death was followed by total collapse on Annie's part. The time between the death and the funeral was passed by the girl in a sort of delirium, in which she was too restless to stay in bed, but too feverish to go out. On the day of the funeral itself, however, she did manage to follow her uncle to his last resting-place. A pathetic little figure she looked in her deep mourning, with her pretty face very pale and her golden hair showing in strong relief against the sombre hue of her black dress. Saxon and Annie were the only relations who followed the Rev Maurice Brooke to the grave. Nevertheless the funeral was a large one, for the dead man had during a long lifetime made friends and not one single enemy. There was not a soul for miles round who did not know and love and mourn for the Rev Maurice Brooke. All these friends, therefore, young and old, made a point of attending his funeral, and he himself might well have been there in spirit so near did his presence seem to lonely Annie as she stood close to the graveside and saw the coffin lowered to its last resting-place. She and John Saxon then returned to the Rectory. Annie was better in health now, but very restless and miserable in spirit. Saxon was consistently kind to her. Her uncle's will was read, which left her all that he possessed, but that all was exceedingly little, not even amounting to sufficient to pay for Annie's school expenses at Mrs Lyttelton's.