THE PARTING.

T had to come at length. Arthur awoke that morning with a great, dreary burden pressing on his heart, and a feeling of half horror, and half unbelieving, that it could really be true.

He hardly knew how he dressed, and he did not notice that the daylight had not changed the dreariness of last night’s weather; for a chill mist was falling outside, and if he had looked for the fields and hills near he would have found them all hidden in the damp fog.

Mrs. Vivyan was waiting for him in the breakfast-room, and presently, as she stood there, the door opened, and a very solemn-looking face appeared. Arthur had been nerving himself for this time; he had been trying very hard not to cry; and he had succeeded pretty well until now, although on the way down stairs he had to bite his lips very hard as he felt the tears in his eyes. But now, as he came into the warm, comfortable room, and noticed everything there, it was no use trying to keep it in any longer. His mother had provided that morning everything he liked best, he could see that.

“Come, dear,” she said, “you must make a good breakfast to please me, you know, Arthur.” Her own face was very, very pale, and Arthur little knew the intense effort it was to her to speak at all. So he sat down in his own little chair, and was very still and silent for some moments; but presently Mrs. Vivyan saw him moving his cup of coffee away, and when there was a clear space before him he threw his arms on the table and buried his head there. It was only just in time; for a very bitter cry broke from his heart and his lips: “Oh, mamma, mamma, I can’t go! Oh, do stay with me! Don’t you think you ought to stay?”

What could she say? What could she do, but lift up her heart to her refuge and strength?

While she was doing this, Arthur’s sobs gradually ceased, and presently he said, in a little broken voice, “I did not mean to do it, mother; I did try not.”

But he could not eat much breakfast, and after a little while he came nearer to her side, and said, “Just let me stay until papa comes for me. I don’t want you to talk. I only want to stay here.” For Mr. Vivyan had gone into the town, not intending to come back until just before the time, when he would come to fetch Arthur away to the new home, where his heart certainly was not.

So they did not speak at all during that hour; only Arthur sat with his head pressed very closely on his mother’s shoulder, and holding her hands in both his, as if he would never loosen his hold.

By and by there was a brisk step in the hall, and out of doors carriage wheels could be heard on the road; and then Mrs. Vivyan lifted the curly head, that was leaning on her shoulder. Arthur knew what it meant—the bitterest moment that had ever come to him was now at hand—and it was only a few minutes, before the good-bye would begin the five long years of separation.

Everything was ready, and he had only to put on his coat and comforter. He was in a kind of maze, as he felt the warm coat put on him, and as his mother’s white hands tied the scarf round his neck. Then her arms were pressed very closely around him, and as he lay there like a helpless little baby, he could just hear her whispered farewell, “Good-bye, my own child; may God take care of you.” Then Arthur felt that his father’s hand was holding his, and that he was leading him away. Suddenly he remembered something that he had forgotten. “Oh, father!” he said, “please stop a moment; I must do something I forgot.” This was a tiny white paper parcel, which he had been keeping for this last moment, in a hidden corner upstairs. Arthur ran up to the place, and bringing it down he put it in his mother’s hands, and said, “That’s what I made for you, mother.”

She did not open it until he was gone; and perhaps it was well that Arthur did not see the passion of tears that were shed over that little parcel. It was only a piece of ivory carved in the shape of a horseshoe, or rather there was an attempt at carving it in that shape; and on a slip of paper was written, in Arthur’s round hand, “For my own dear mother to wear while I am away. This is to be made into a brooch.”