Thomas Wingfold. Volume III by George MacDonald

As Leopold slowly departed, he seemed to his sister to draw along / with him all that was precious in her life. She felt herself grow / dull and indifferent. It was to no purpose that she upbraided / herself with heartlessness; seemingly heartless her bosom remained. / It was not that her mind was occupied with anything else than her / brother, or drew comfort from another source; her feelings appeared / to be dying with him who had drawn them forth more than any other. / The battle was ending without even the poor pomp and circumstance of / torn banners and wailful music.

Leopold said very little during the last few days. His fits, of / coughing were more frequent, and in the pauses he had neither / strength nor desire to speak. When Helen came to his bedside, he / would put out his hand to her, and she would sit down by him and / hold it warm in hers. The hand of his sister was the point of the / planet from which, like his mount of ascension, the spirit of the / youth took its departure; -- when he let that go, he was gone. But he / died asleep, as so many do; and fancied, I presume, that he was / waking into his old life, when he woke into his new one.