He was never one who readily showed his feelings, and there was no danger of his failing in self-command, though grievously downcast, not only at the loss of the tender mother, who had always stood between him and his father's impatience, but by the dread that he was too dull and insignificant to afford any help or comfort in his father's dire affliction.
Yet there was something in the gentle sad look that met him, and in the low tone of the "How d'ye do, Ritchie ?" that drove off a thought of not being loved; and when Dr.May further added, "You'll see about it all--I am glad you are come," he knew he was of use, and was encouraged and cheered.

That his father had full confidence and reliance in him, and that his presence was a satisfaction and relief he could no longer doubt; and this was a drop of balm beyond all his hopes; for loving and admiring his father intensely, and with depressed spirits and a low estimate of himself, he had begun to fancy himself incapable of being anything but a vexation and burden.
He sat with his father nearly all the evening, and was to remain with him at night.

The rest were comforted by the assurance that Dr.May was still calm, and did not seem to have been injured by what had passed.
Indeed, it seemed as if the violence and suddenness of the shock, together with his state of suffering, had deadened his sensations; for there was far less agitation about him than could have been thought possible in a man of such strong, warm affections and sensitive temperament.
Ethel and Norman went up arm-in-arm at bedtime.
"I am going to ask if I may wish papa good-night," said Ethel.

"Shall I say anything about your coming ?" Norman hesitated, but his cheeks blanched; he shuddered, shook his head without speaking, ran up after Harry, and waved her back when she would have followed.
Richard told her that she might come in, and, as she slowly advanced, she thought she had never seen anything so ineffably mournful as the affectionate look on her father's face.

She held his hand and ventured--for it was with difficulty she spoke--to hope he was not in pain.
"Better than it was, thank you, my dear," he said, in a soft weak tone: then, as she bent down to kiss his brow; "you must take care of the little ones." "Yes, papa," she could hardly answer, and a large drop gathered slowly in each eye, long in coming, as if the heart ached too much for them to flow freely.
"Are they all well ?" "Yes, papa." "And good ?" He held her hand, as if lengthening the interview.
"Yes, very good all day." A long deep sigh.