Corney obeyed. In some strange, lovely way she had got the mistressship of his conscience as well as his heart. He got out of bed at once, went straight down on his knees, and, though he did not speak, was presently weeping like a child. It was a strange group in the gray of the new morning—ah, indeed, a new morning for them!—the girl in the arms of the elderly man, and the youth kneeling at their feet, both men weeping and the girl radiant.

Gerald Raymount closed the door on his son and his son’s wife and hastened to his own to tell her all.

Immediately when the emotional strain was off her, Amy fell into a severe and fevered illness, brought on by her exposure to the cold and rain and pain. She was brought almost to death’s door. Corney in his turn became nurse, and improved not a little from his own anxiety, her sweetness, and the sympathy of every one, his father included.

But such was Amy’s constitution that when she began to recover she recovered rapidly, and was soon ready for the share lovingly allotted her in the duties of the house.

—Forty-Seven —

The Message

But the precious little Mark did not get better, and it soon became very clear to the major that, although months might elapse before he left them, he must go before long. It was the only cloud that now hung over the family. But the parting drew upon them so softly, with so little increase of suffering, and with such a mild but genuine enjoyment of existence that only he was thoroughly aware that death was at the door. The rest said the summer would certainly restore him. But the major expected him to die with the first of the warm weather. The child himself believed he was going soon.

Most of his dreams, which now seemed to be coming with greater frequency, he told to the major.

One day he said, “I was trying to tell Saffy a dream I had while you were resting. And when I told her she said, ‘But it’s all nonsense, you know, Mark! It’s only a dream!’—What do you think, majie?”

“Was it a dream, Mark?” asked the major.

“Yes, it was a dream, but do you think a dream is nothing at all? I think if it is a good dream, it must be God’s. For you know every good thing is from God. He made the thing that dreams and the things that set it dreaming, so he must be the master of dreams—at least when he pleases. Do you know, majie, I used to think he came and talked to me in the window-seat when I was a child! What if he really did, and I should be going to be made sure that he did—up there, I mean, you know—I don’t know where, but it’s where Jesus went when he went back to his papa! Oh, how happy Jesus must have been when he got back to his papa!”