He had reached the border land, and was standing on the river's brink. On the other side of the stream was the ever-lasting home, where his Nelly dwelt, and where hanger and weariness and pain could never come. Why did he linger, when he wanted so much to cross and be at rest for ever?
He had no fear, and to the onlookers it seemed easy dying. No sigh or moan escaped his lips; he lay as still as the dead.
The day waned at length and darkened into night, and Mrs. Fisher and one of the servants remained up to watch by the little invalid. It was about midnight when they observed a change come over him. The brow contracted as if in pain, the wasted fingers plucked at the clothes, and the breathing became heavy and irregular.
Mrs. Fisher ran to her husband's room, and summoned him at once to Benny's bedside. John Fisher was a kind man, and needed no second bidding. With a gentle hand he wiped away the big drops that were gathering on the little sufferer's brow ; then turning to his wife, he said—"Do you think you had better stay, love? I think he is dying."
"No, no!" she said; "I cannot see him die." Then, after a pause, she sobbed, "Let me know when it is over, John," and hurried from the room.
