The wonderful tidings seemed at first almost more than the son could bear. With face suffused and eyes aglow, he gazed upon his mother. Suddenly his lips began to move; he spoke like one who has descried something wonderful, and far away.
"Yes, mother," he whispered low, "yes, I’ll love him—I love him now; I’ll love him—like you love him. And I’ll bring him, mother, when he comes back; I’ll bring him—we’ll come together. I’ll tell him what you said," he cried, forgetful who might hear, "and then he’ll come—I know he’ll come," his face radiant with the thought.
"And Jessie," the mother murmured, "Jessie too."
"Yes, Jessie too," he answered; "come, Jessie—come," as he beckoned to her; she moved gently over and kneeled with him beside the bed.
The day had broken. And the glowing heralds of the approaching sun were making beautiful the path before him. Hill and dale, their shining outlines visible in the distance, were clothed in golden glory; the opal clouds announced the coming of their king; the fragrant trees, and the bursting buds, and the spreading blossoms, and the kindling sward, and the verdure-covered fields gave back the far-flung smile of light. Like a bride adorned for her husband, all stood in unconscious beauty as far as eye could reach.
"Look, mother, look," Harvey cried suddenly, gently lifting the dear head from the pillow as the sanctity of the scene impelled him. "Oh, mother, you can see them all," rapture and sorrow mingling in the tone.
The far-seeing eyes turned slowly towards the window, rested one brief, wonderful moment upon the wonderful sight, then turned away in ineffable tenderness and longing, fastening themselves again where they had been fixed before. For love is a mighty tyrant and the proudest kings must take their place as vassals in his train.
An instant later the dying eyes seemed to leap far beyond, beautiful with rapture. "Look, look," she cried as though the others were the blind, "look, oh look," her voice ringing clear with the last energy of death; "it’s lovelier yonder—where it’s always spring. Don’t you see, Harvey? Jessie, don’t you see? And baby’s there, Jessie—Harvey, the baby’s there—and she’s beckoning; look, look, it’s you—not me—she’s calling. Let us all go," she said, the voice dropping to faintness again, the eyes turning again upon her children; "let us—all—go; it’s so—lovely; and we’re—all—so tired," as the dear lips became forever still.