“It will be such joy to see,” he said to her one night when they sat together by the window of his room, with the silvery moonlight falling on his beautiful face and making it like the face of an angel.  “Such joy to see again, and the very first one I shall look at after Christ and mother, will be old blind Bartimeus, who sat by the roadside and begged.  I have not had to do that, and my life has been very, very happy, for you have been my eyes, and made me see everything.  You know I have a faint recollection of the grass, and the flowers, and the trees in the park, and that has helped me so much; and I have you in my mind, too, and you are so lovely I know, for I have heard people talk of your sweet face and beautiful eyes; starry eyes I have heard them called.”

“Oh, Robbie, Robbie, don’t!” came like cry of pain from Lucy’s quivering lips.  But Robin did not heed her, and went on: 

“Starry eyes—­that’s just what they are, I think; and I can imagine how lovingly they look at me, and how pityingly, too.  There is always something so sad in your voice when you speak to me, and I say to myself, ’That’s how Lucy’s eyes look at me, just as her voice sounds when it says brother Robbie.’  I shall know you in heaven, the moment you come, and I shall be waiting for you, and when I see your eyes I shall say, ‘That is sister Lucy, come at last!’ Oh, it will be such joy!—­no night, no blindness, no pain, and you with me again as you have been here, only there, I shall be the guide, and lead you through the green pastures beside the still waters, where never-fading flowers are blooming sweeter than the orange blossoms near our window.”

Lucy was sobbing hysterically, with her head in his lap, while he smoothed the dark braids of her hair, and tried to comfort her by asking if she ought not to be glad that he was going where there was no more night for him, and where she, too, would join him in a little while.

“It is not that!” Lucy cried, “though it breaks my heart to think of you gone forever.  How can I live without you?  What shall I do when my expiatory work is finished?”

“Expiatory work?” Robin repeated, questioningly.  “What do you mean?  What have you to expiate?—­you, the noblest, most unselfish sister in the world!”

“Much, much.  Oh, Robbie, I cannot let you die with this upon my mind, even if the confession turn your love for me into hate—­and you do love me, I have made your life a little less sad than it might have been but for me.”

“Yes, sister, you have made my life so full of happiness that, darkened as it is, I would like to cling to it longer, though I know heaven is so much better.”

“Thank you, Robbie—­thank you for that” Lucy said; then, lifting up her head, and looking straight into her brother’s face, she continued:  “You say you have a faint recollection of the grass, and the flowers, and the trees in the park.  Have you also any remembrance, however slight, how I looked when we were little children playing together at home?”