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1068 On a fine, mild autumn day, when all was tranquil and at peace: when the soft sweet air crept in at the open window of the quiet room, and not a sound was heard but the gentle rustling of the leaves: Nicholas sat in his old place by the bedside, and knew that the time was nearly come. So very still it was, that, every now and then, he bent down his ear to listen for the breathing of him who lay asleep, as if to assure himself that life was still there, and that he had not fallen into that deep slumber from which on earth there is no waking. While he was thus employed, the closed eyes opened, and on the pale face there came a placid smile. ‘That’s well!’ said Nicholas. ‘The sleep has done you good.’ ‘I have had such pleasant dreams,’ was the answer. ‘Such pleasant, happy dreams!’ ‘Of what?’ said Nicholas. The dying boy turned towards him, and, putting his arm about his neck, made answer, ‘I shall soon be there!’ After a short silence, he spoke again. ‘I am not afraid to die,’ he said. ‘I am quite contented. I almost think that if I could rise from this bed quite well I would not wish to do so, now. You have so often told me we shall meet again--so very often lately, and now I feel the truth of that so strongly--that I can even bear to part from you.’ The trembling voice and tearful eye, and the closer grasp of the arm which accompanied these latter words, showed how they filled the speaker’s heart; nor were there wanting indications of how deeply they had touched the heart of him to whom they were addressed. ‘You say well,’ returned Nicholas at length, ‘and comfort me |