CHAPTER XVI.

GONE.

THEY had to leave the cab in the street, and walk across the chapel yard. A bright light shone through John Shafto's window, and fell upon the gravestones and the almost level graves, covered with rank grass. What a quiet place to live or die in, in the very heart of the City!

Mr. Mason trod softly, as if his step might already disturb the dying boy; and Sandy tenderly hushed Gip, who was chattering merrily in his arms. The kitchen was dark and empty, for Mr. Shafto was no longer in the arm-chair in the warmest corner; and they passed through, and very gently climbed up the old staircase. The door of John's room was open, and they could see him before they entered, his head lying against his mother's shoulder, and her arm about him, while the tears stole slowly down her cheeks. John's white face still wore a smile lingering about the mouth, though his eyes were closed. Mr. Shafto stood at the foot of the bed watching him, as if he could not bear to lose one moment of the few that were left in which he could see his boy's living face.

"John!" said Mr. Mason, very quietly, as he drew nearer to him, "John!"

"Sandy's found you!" murmured John, opening his heavy eyelids; "I thought it would be too late. Where is Sandy?"

"I'm here, Johnny!" cried Sandy from the doorway. "Me and little Gip. Little Gip's found at last, Johnny!"

"Little Gip!" he said, rousing himself. "Bring her to me for one moment, Sandy."

"Gip must be very good," said Sandy, coaxingly, and pulling back the scarlet hood from her small face, "Gip must love Johnny, and kiss him, and say good-bye."

"Me be good," promised Gip, looking about her without any shyness; "me kiss everybody, and say good-bye. Me go across the great sea to-morrow."

"No, no," cried Sandy, "little Gip's not going away; it's Johnny that's goin'; and she must put her little arms round his neck, and kiss him; there's a good little gel!"

He laid her down on the bed by Johnny, and the dying boy turned his face towards her, while she put her arms round his neck, and kissed his cheek gently, as if she knew how ill he was. He took her small, soft, warm hand into his own chilly one, and held it fast, while Sandy stood by, scarcely knowing whether joy or sorrow was nearest to him at that moment.

"I'm so glad!" whispered John Shafto. "It's all true, every word of it."

"What is true, my boy?" asked Mr. Mason.

"That about Him leaving the rest, who are safe, and coming after that which is lost," he said, compelled to pause often between the words to gather strength to speak again; "and when He finds us, He is so glad! He's more glad than I am! And He calls all the angels to Him, and says, 'Rejoice with me.' All the world's like little Gip; but He'll be gladder than we are some day when He finds us. It's all true."

"All true!" repeated Mr. Mason.

Sandy fell on his knees beside John Shafto, and stretched his arm over him to feel little Gip.

Johnny's eyes rested on his face with a look of unutterable tenderness.

"He's taken care of little Gip for you," he said; "you must never forget that, or leave off loving Him, though you cannot see Him. You'll be like a son to mother; I'm leaving her to you."

"Oh! Johnny! Johnny!" said Mr. Shafto, in a lamentable voice, "I've been a poor father to you, and a very poor husband to Mary; but say a word to me, as if I'd been all I should have been. Can Christ save me from my idleness and selfishness? If you could but live, and see what a father I would be!"

"Have you been a poor father?" asked Johnny, smiling. "I never thought that, never. But perhaps I've loved mother most; she's been so good to me. She'll be good to Sandy and little Gip now."

There was so deep a stillness for some minutes after that, that all the indistinct sounds from the busy streets seemed to grow and come nearer. Gip lifted up her little head to look about her; but when Sandy held up his hand, she laid it down quietly again on the pillow beside Johnny's white, still face. His fingers dropped her tiny hand. Which of them was Sandy to gaze at? Gip's rosy cheeks and glittering eyes, or John Shafto's pale, cold face, with a film creeping over his sight, and the smile dying away from his lips?

"Oh, Johnny!" he sobbed. "Couldn't you stay just a little bit longer? Wouldn't you like to stay with little Gip just for one day? Don't die to-day, Johnny, just when I've found my little Gip."

"I'm very glad she's found," he whispered, his lips so near to Sandy that he could catch every word; "but I cannot stay. Lost and found! Dead and alive again! Rejoice with me! He is saying that."

"Who says that?" asked Sandy; but there was no answer.

They were all looking at Johnny's face; even little Gip's black eyes were fastened upon it, for it shone with a strange light. His lips moved slowly, though Sandy himself could not hear what they were speaking. His eyes shone with a steady beam of gladness. Then his head fell lower upon his mother's breast; and she uttered a single cry of great anguish, for she knew that he was dead.

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