It's a bit
o' comfort to hev heard thee speak out so straightfor'ard. God bless
thee, nephew Richard!"
He brightened up considerably the week before Christmas, and watched
Elizabeth and Lady Evelyn deck his room with box and fir and holly.
The mother was quiet and very undemonstrative, but she attached herself
to the dying man, and he regarded her with a pitying tenderness, for
which there appeared to be no cause whatever. As she carried away her
boy in her arms on Christmas-eve, he looked sadly after her, and,
touching Elizabeth's hand, said, "Be varry good to her, wilt ta?"
They had all spent an hour with him in honor of the festival, and about
seven o'clock he went to bed. Richard knew that the ladies would be
occupied for a short time with some Christmas arrangements for the
poor of the village, and he remained with the squire. The sick man
fell into a deep sleep, and Richard sat quiet, with his eyes fixed
upon the glowing embers. Suddenly, the squire spoke out clear and
strong--"Yes, father, I am coming!"
In the dim chamber there was not a movement. Richard glanced at the
bed. His uncle's eyes were fixed upon him. He went to his side and
grasped his hand.
"Did you hear him call me?"
"I heard no one speak but you."
"My father called me, Richard."
Richard fully believed the dying man.
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