As she did so, something flew into her face, and fluttered to the edge of the vase, and as she attempted to brush it off, she started back, smothering a cry of horror.  It was the Sphinx Atropos, the Death’s Head Moth; and there, upon its breast, appallingly distinct, grinned the ghastly, gray human skull.  Twice it circled rapidly round the vase, uttering strange, stridulous sounds, then floated up to the canopy overarching Felix’s bed, and poised itself on the carved frame, waiting and flapping its wings, vulture-like.  Shuddering from head to foot, notwithstanding the protest which reason offered against superstition, the governess sat down to watch the boy’s slumber.

His eyes were closed, and she hoped that he slept; but presently he feebly put out his skeleton hand and took hers.

“Edna, mamma cannot hear me, can she?”

“She is asleep, but I will wake her if you wish it.”

“No, she would only begin to cry, and that would worry me.  Edna, I want you to promise me one thing—­” He paused a few seconds and sighed wearily.

“When you all go back home, don’t leave me here; take me with you, and lay my poor little deformed body in the ground at ‘The Willows,’ where the sea will sing over me.  We were so happy there!  I always thought I should like my grave to be under the tallest willow, where our canary’s cage used to hang.  Edna, I don’t think you will live long—­I almost hope you won’t—­and I want you to promise me, too, that you will tell them to bury us close together; so that the very moment I rise out of my grave, on the day of judgment, I will see your face!  Sometimes, when I think of the millions and millions that will be pressing up for their trial before God’s throne, on that great, awful day, I am afraid I might lose or miss you in the crowd, and never find you again; but, you know, if our coffins touch, you can stretch out your hand to me as you rise, and we can go together.  Oh!  I want your face to be the last I see here, and the first—­ yonder.”

He raised his fingers slowly, and they fell back wearily on the coverlet.

“Don’t talk so, Felix.  Oh, my darling’ God will not take you away from me.  Try to sleep, shut your eyes; you need rest to compose you.”

She knelt down, kissed him repeatedly, and laid her face close to his on the pillow; and he tried to turn and put his emaciated arm around her neck.

“Edna, I have been a trouble to you for a long time, but you will miss me when I am gone, and you will have nothing to love.  If you live long, marry Mr. Manning, and let him take care of you.  Don’t work so hard, dear Edna; only rest, and let him make you happy.  Before I knew you I was always wishing to die; but now I hate to leave you all alone, my own dear, pale Edna.”

“Oh, Felix, darling! hush!  Go to sleep.  You wring my heart!”

Her sobs distressed him, and, feebly patting her cheek, he said: