Grey could look upon him now, and when his Aunt Hannah and his father
rose to take their leave of the corpse, he went with them, lingering by
the coffin after they had returned to their seats, and bending over the
white, still face, where death had left a smile, so peaceful, so
inexpressibly sweet that it touched the boy keenly, and stooping down he
kissed the stiffened lips, and murmured, through his tears:
"Dear grandpa, forgive me for doubting you, I know you were good. I know
you are in heaven."
He spoke in a whisper and no one heard what he said, though all noted
the pallor of his face and the heavy rings about his eyes, and when the
next day it was rumored in town that he was very sick, no one was
surprised. It was brain fever, induced by the strain upon his mental
powers, and the cold he had taken that night when, unknown to any one,
he had gone to the farm-house through the storm, and returned again.
For three weeks he lay at the very gates of death, watched and cared for
as few boys have ever been cared for and watched, for he was the idol of
hearts which would break if he were to die.
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