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Page 6
"Are we not ever side by side, dear?" replied Claire, tenderly. "You
are present to my thought all the day."
"And you to mine. O yes! yes! We _are_ moving side by side; our mutual
thought gives presence. Yet it was the bodily presence I desired. But
that cannot be."
"Good-bye, love! Good-bye, sweet one!" said Claire, kissing his wife,
and gently pressing his lips upon those of the babe she held in her
arms. He then passed forth, and took his way to the store of Leonard
Jasper, in whose service he had been for two years, or since the date
of his marriage.
A scene transpired a few days previous to this, which we will briefly
describe. Three persons were alone in a chamber, the furniture
of which, though neither elegant nor costly, evinced taste and
refinement. Lying upon a bed was a man, evidently near the time of his
departure from earth. By his side, and bending over him, was a woman
almost as pale as himself. A little girl, not above five years of age,
sat on the foot of the bed, with her eyes fixed on the countenance of
her father, for such was the relation borne to her by the sick man.
A lovely creature she was--beautiful even beyond the common beauty of
childhood. For a time a solemn stillness reigned through the chamber.
A few low-spoken words had passed between the parents of the child,
and then, for a brief period, all was deep, oppressive silence. This
was interrupted, at length, by the mother's unrestrained sobs, as she
laid her face upon the bosom of her husband, so soon to be taken from
her, and wept aloud.
No word of remonstrance or comfort came from the sick man's lips. He
only drew his arm about the weeper's neck, and held her closer to his
heart.
The troubled waters soon ran clear: there was calmness in their
depths.
"It is but for a little while, Fanny," said he, in a feeble yet steady
voice; "only for a little while."
"I know; I feel that here," was replied, as a thin, white hand was
laid against the speaker's bosom. "And I could patiently await my
time, but"----
Her eyes glanced yearningly toward the child, who sat gazing upon her
parents, with an instinct of approaching evil at her heart.
Too well did the dying man comprehend the meaning of this glance.
"God will take care of her. He will raise her up friends," said he
quickly; yet, even as he spoke, his heart failed him.
"All that is left to us is our trust in Him," murmured the wife and
mother. Her voice, though so low as to be almost a whisper, was firm.
She realized, as she spoke, how much of bitterness was in the parting
hours of the dying one, and she felt that duty required her to sustain
him, so far as she had the strength to do so. And so she nerved her
woman's heart, almost breaking as it was, to bear and hide her own
sorrows, while she strove to comfort and strengthen the failing spirit
of her husband.
"God is good," said she, after a brief silence, during which she was
striving for the mastery over her weakness. As she spoke, she leaned
over the sick man, and looked at him lovingly, and with the smile of
an angel on her countenance.
"Yes, God is good, Fanny. Have we not proved this, again and again?"
was returned, a feeble light coming into the speaker's pale face.
"A thousand times, dear! a thousand times!" said the wife, earnestly.
"He is infinite in his goodness, and we are his children."
"Yes, his children," was the whispered response. And over and over
again he repeated the words, "His children;" his voice falling lower
and lower each time, until at length his eyes closed, and his in-going
thought found no longer an utterance.
Twilight had come. The deepening shadows were fast obscuring all
objects in the sick-chamber, where silence reigned, profound almost as
death.
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