The unmarried sister with whom he lived took care of him; and the child, now old enough to be manageable and even useful in trifling offices, sat in the chamber, or played, about.
Things could not go on so forever, of course.

One morning his face was sunken and his hands were very, very cold.

He was "better," he whispered, but sadly and faintly.

After a while he grew restless and seemed a little wandering.

His mind ran on his classics, and fell back on the Latin grammar.
"Iris!" he said,--"filiola mea!"-- The child knew this meant my dear little daughter as well as if it had been English.--"Rainbow!" for he would translate her name at times,--"come to me,--veni"-- and his lips went on automatically, and murmured, "vel venito!"-- The child came and sat by his bedside and took his hand, which she could not warm, but which shot its rays of cold all through her slender frame.