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Oh Eric, Eric, I am young, but I am dying--dying,
Eric," he said solemnly, "my brother; let me call you brother; I have no
near relations, you know, to fill up the love in my yearning heart, but
I _do_ love _you_. Kiss me, Eric, as though I were a child, and you a
child. There, that comforts me; I feel as if I _were_ a child again, and
had a dear brother;--and I _shall_ be a child again soon, Eric, in the
courts of a Father's house."
Eric could not speak. These words startled him; he never dreamt
_recently_ of Russell's death, but had begun to reckon on his recovery,
and now life seemed darker to him than ever.
But Russell was pressing the flowers to his lips. "The grass
withereth," he murmured, "the flower fadeth, and the glory of its beauty
perisheth; but--_but_ the word of the Lord endureth for ever." And here
he too burst into natural tears, and Eric pressed his hand, with more
than a brother's fondness, to his heart.
"Oh Eddy, Eddy, my heart is full," he said, "too full to speak to you.


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