Maud was near, kneeling at the side of the bed.  Her whole attitude denoted the abstraction of a mind absorbed in worship and solicitation.  Though Willoughby’s heart yearned to raise her in his arms; to console her, and bid her lean on himself, in future, for her earthly support, he too much respected her present occupation, to break in upon it with any irreverent zeal of his own.  His eye turned from this loved object, therefore, and hurriedly looked for his mother.

The form of Mrs. Willoughby had escaped the first glances of her son, in consequence of the position in which she had placed herself.  The stricken wife was in a corner of the room, her person partly concealed by the drapery of a window-curtain; though this was evidently more the effect of accident, than of design.  Willoughby started, as he caught the first glance of his beloved parent’s face; and he felt a chill pass over his whole frame.  There she sat upright, motionless, tearless, without any of the alleviating weaknesses of a less withering grief, her mild countenance exposed to the light of the lamp, and her eyes riveted on the face of the dead.  In this posture had she remained for hours; no tender cares on the part of her daughters; no attentions from her domestics; no outbreaking of her own sorrows, producing any change.  Even the clamour of the assault had passed by her like the idle wind.

“My mother—­my poor—­dear—­heart-broken mother!” burst from Willoughby, at this sight, and he stepped quickly forward, and knelt at her feet.

But Bob—­the darling Bob—­his mother’s pride and joy, was unheeded.  The heart, which had so long beaten for others only; which never seemed to feel a wish, or a pulsation, but in the service of the objects of its affection, was not sufficiently firm to withstand the blow that had lighted on it so suddenly.  Enough of life remained, however, to support the frame for a while; and the will still exercised its power over the mere animal functions.  Her son shut out the view of the body, and she motioned him aside with an impatience of manner he had never before witnessed from the same quarter.  Inexpressibly shocked, the major took her hands, by gentle compulsion, covering them with kisses, and literally bathing them in tears.

“Oh! mother—­dearest, dearest mother!” he cried, “will you not—­do you not know me—­Robert—­Bob—­your much-indulged, grateful, affectionate son.  If father is gone into the immediate presence of the God he revered and served, I am still left to be a support to your declining years.  Lean on me, mother, next to your Father in Heaven.”

“Will he ever get up, Robert?” whispered the widowed mother.  “You speak too loud, and may rouse him before his time.  He promised me to bring you back; and he ever kept his promises.  He had a long march, and is weary, See, how sweetly he sleeps!”