"August!" Andrew tried to speak quietly, but there was a something of hope in the inflection, a tremor of eagerness in the utterance, that made the mother look up quickly and inquiringly.
August opened his eyes slowly and looked into the face of the Philosopher.

Then he slowly closed his eyes again, and a something, not a smile--he was too weak for that--but a look of infinite content, spread over his wan face.
"I know," he whisperd.
"Know what ?" asked Andrew, leaning down to catch his words.
"Julia." And a single tear crept out from under the closed lid.

The tender mother wiped it away.
After resting a moment, August looked up at Andrew's face inquiringly.
"She is coming," said the Philosopher.
August smiled very faintly, but Andrew was sure he smiled, and again leaned down his ear.
"She is here," whispered August; "I heard Charon bark, and I--saw--your--face." Andrew now stepped to the closet-door and opened it, and Julia came out.
"Blamed ef he a'n't a witch!" whispered Jonas.

"Cunjures a angel out of his cupboard!" Julia did not see anybody or anything but the white and wasted face upon the pillow.

The eyes were now closed again, and she quickly crossed the floor, and--not without a faint maidenly blush--stooped and kissed the parched lips, from which the life seemed already to have fled.
And August with difficulty disengaged his wasted hand from the cover, and laid his nerveless fingers--alas! like a skeleton's now--In the warm hand of Julia, and said--she leaned down to listen, an he whispered feebly through his dry lips out of a full heart--"Thank God!" And the Philosopher, catching the words, said audibly, "Amen!" And the mother only wept..