That familiar sight recalled the past; he thought of Jamie, and
seemed to hear again the childish words, uttered long ago, "God will
remember us."
Steps came and went along the lonely street, but the dark figure in
the shadow never stirred, only stood there with bent head, accepting
the silent rebuke that shone down upon it, and murmuring, softly,--
"God remember little Jamie, and forgive me that my love for him led
me astray."
As Walter raised his hand to dash away the drops that rose at the
memory of the boy, his eye fell on the ring he always wore for his
dead mother's sake. He had hoped to see it one day on Bess's hand,
but now a generous thought banished all others and with the energy
of an honest purpose be hastened to sell the ring, purchase a little
food and fuel, and borrowing a warm covering of a kindly neighbor,
he went back to dispense these comforts with a satisfaction he had
little thought to feel.
The one lamp burned low; a few dying embers lay upon the earth, and
no sound broke the silence but the steady rustle of Bess's needle,
and the echo of Jamie's hollow cough.
"Wrap it around Bess; she has given me her cloak, and needs it more
than I,--these coverings do very well;" and as he spoke, Jamie put
away the blanket Walter offered, and suppressing a shiver, hid his
purple hands beneath the old, thin cloak.
"Here is bread, Jamie; eat for Heaven's sake, no need to save it
now;" and Walter pressed it on the boy, but he only took a little,
saying he had not much need of food and loved to see them eat far
better.
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