She laid her lips on his, and the touch calmed their shivering; and, after a moment, she began to repeat the apocalyptic vision of heaven: 

“And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light; and they shall reign for ever and ever.”

“But, Edna, the light does not shine down there in the grave.  If you could go with me—­”

“A better and kinder Friend will go with you, dear Felix.”

She sang with strange pathos “Motet,” that beautiful arrangement of “The Lord is my Shepherd.”

As she reached that part where the words, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” are repeated, the weak, quavering voice of the sick boy joined hers; and, when she ceased, the emaciated face was placid, the great dread had passed away for ever.

Anxious to divert his thoughts, she put into his hand a bunch of orange flowers and violets, which had been sent to her that day by Mr. Manning; and taking a book from the bed, she resumed the reading of “The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain,” to which the invalid had never wearied of listening.

But she soon saw that for once he was indifferent; and, understanding the expression of the eyes that gazed out on the purple shadows shrouding the Apennines, she closed the volume, and laid the sufferer back on his pillow.

While she was standing before a table, preparing some nourishment to be given to him during the night, Mrs. Andrews came close to her and whispered: 

“Do you see much change?  Is he really worse, or do my fears magnify every bad symptom?”

“He is much exhausted, but I trust the stimulants will revive him.  You must go to bed early, and get a good sound sleep, for you look worn out.  I will wake you if I see any decided change in him.”

Mrs. Andrews hung for some time over her child’s pillow, caressing him, saying tender, soothing, motherly things; and, after a while, she and Hattie kissed him, and went into the adjoining room, leaving him to the care of one whom he loved better than all the world beside.

It was late at night before the sound of laughter, song and chatter died away in the streets of Genoa the magnificent.  While the human tide ebbed and flowed under the windows, Felix was restless, and his companion tried to interest him by telling him the history of the Dorias, and of the siege during which Massena won such glory.  Her conversation drifted away, even to Ancona, and that sad, but touching incident, which Sismondi records, of the noble, patriotic young mother, who gave to a starving soldier the milk that her half-famished babe required, and sent him, thus refreshed and strengthened, to defend the walls of her beleaguered city.

The boy’s fondness for history showed itself even then, and he listened attentively to her words.

At length silence reigned through the marble palaces, and Edna rose to place the small lamp in an alabaster vase.