The memory of that look often came back to him in the years that
followed, and he would not have parted with it for anything that earth
could give.
Just as the clock struck five, his mother breathed her last. The boy
gazed upon the inanimate form, but he was dazed, and could not realize
that his mother had left him, never to return.
"She is gone," said Mr. Manning, softly.
"Dead!" ejaculated Frank.
"Yes, her sufferings are over. Let us hope she is better off. My boy, I
think you had better return to your bed. You can do nothing for your
mother now."
"I would rather stay here," said Frank, sadly. "I can at least look at
her, and soon I shall lose even that comfort."
The thought was too much for the poor boy, and he burst into tears.
"Do as you please, Frank," assented Mr. Manning. "I feel for you, and I
share in your grief. I will go and tell Mark of our sad loss."
He made his way to Mark's chamber and entered. He touched Mark, who was
in a doze, and he started up.
"What's the matter?" he asked, crossly.
"Your poor mother is dead, Mark."
"Well, there was no need to wake me for that," said the boy, irritably.
"I can't help it, can I?"
"I think, my son, you might speak with more feeling.
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