Her voice awoke him, and lifting his eyes to her face, he smiled upon her the old, loving smile she knew so well and which reassured her a little.
"You have slept very sweetly, and you are better," she said to him, and he replied: "No, Bessie, not better. I shall never be any better in this world. There is a weakness all over me this morning, and I cannot lift my hand to touch you--see?" and he tried to raise the thin, wasted hand lying so helplessly upon the counterpane.
Taking it in her own, Bessie felt that it was cold as ice, but she rubbed it gently, and said: "It is only numb, I shall soon make it warm again."
"No, Bessie; never any more warmth for me. I know it now; the end is very near, and the birds are singing everywhere, just as they sang in the summer mornings years ago, when I was a boy. I used to lie on the grass under the yews, and listen to them, and think they were singing of my future, which I meant should be so bright. Oh, Bessie, everything has been so different; everything has changed but you and the birds, singing now to me of another future which will be bright and fair. What season is it, Bessie? My mind wanders a little. Is it summer again in the dear old rose-scented-garden?"
"Yes, father; summer everywhere," Bessie answered him with a choking sob, and he continued: "I am glad. I would rather die in the summer time just as father and mother did. Bury me by them, Bessie; with no expense, and when Daisy dies lay her by me, too, in the grass where the birds are singing. She ought to be here now--to-day; send for her, Bessie; send at once, if a telegram can reach her."
Bessie must tell him now, and kissing his pale forehead, she said: "A telegram cannot reach her, father, for she is on the sea, going to America."
"Gone to America! When she knew how sick I was. Oh, Daisy, Daisy, I would not have served you so," the sick man cried, with a bitter cry, which rang in Bessie's ears many a day, but did not reach the heartless woman at that very moment coquetting with the doctor of the ship, and tapping his arm playfully with her fan as she told him she had lost her appetite for everything but champagne, and asked what he would advise her to take.
"She was invited to go by some friends, who bear all the expense. She has long wished to see America, and it was such a good opportunity that she took it. She will not be gone long; only through the summer," Bessie said, trying to find excuse for her mother, but Archie shook his head, and replied: "I shall not be here when she comes back; shall not be here to-morrow; and, oh, my child, what will you do? You cannot live here alone, and my annuity dies with me. Bessie, oh, Bessie, you will not pursue your mother's course?"