AT SUNSET.
Elsli continued to go daily to the little invalid, and, from the first
visit, she had been a dear friend and companion to the sick girl, who
would not hear of her going on errands, but kept her by her own side
from the moment she came, till it was time to go home. Mrs. Stanhope,
whose only object in life was her little girl’s happiness, was more than
pleased with this arrangement; and watched with delight as Nora grew,
from day to day, more cheerful and even lively in the companionship of a
girl of her own age. And Elsli, too, profited by the intercourse; she
was of a yielding nature and easily took new impressions, and now that
she passed all her time in refined society, she insensibly grew into its
likeness; and her voice, her manners, her way of speaking, all seemed
assimilated to those of a very different way of life from that to which
she had been accustomed. Was it that this new way was really more suited
to her nature than the old?
The two girls studied together every day Elsli’s lessons for the morrow,
greatly to the pleasure and advantage of both. To Elsli especially, it
was a new and delightful sensation to go to her class with a perfectly
prepared lesson, and to hear the praises which the teacher daily
bestowed upon her improvement; while Nora, whose invalidism had long cut
her off from her books, found a fresh zest in resuming her studies with
her eager friend. After lessons came supper, and then the evening with
its long talks. These were generally about the beautiful country, to
which Nora hoped soon to go, and where Elsli followed her in sympathetic
thought. One regret began to dim Nora’s satisfaction at the prospect;
the thought that they couldn’t go together; and Elsli would say, sadly,
“If you should go and leave me here alone, how could I bear it?”
At last September came, with its cool but sunny days. One evening, as
the children sat at the window looking across the meadows towards the
setting sun; from a dark cloud that hung in the western sky, a great
flood of shining light suddenly poured down across the valley,
illuminating the trees, the grass, and the shrubs with its dazzling
radiance.
“Look! look!” cried Nora, “that is the crystal stream! there it comes
rolling toward me! Oh, I wish I could go there now! It is certainly the
promised land, where we all shall be so happy. Come nearer to me,
Elsli. I feel so weak I cannot sit up alone.”
Elsli sat close by her, and drew the tired head to rest upon her
shoulder; and so the two friends sat, silently gazing at the wonderful
sight, until at last the sun disappeared behind the woods, and slowly
the mists of evening filled the valley, and all the glory was over.
But for Nora it had only just begun. When her mother came in from the
next room, she thought her little girl was asleep on Elsli’s shoulder.
She was asleep, indeed; but she would never awaken on earth. Mrs.
Stanhope took her in her arms, and burst into tears.
“Run, Elsli, for the doctor, as fast as you can!” cried she, and Elsli
ran. The doctor was not at home, but Mrs. Stein soon saw the truth, from
Elsli’s answers to her many questions.
“Dear little Nora!” she said sadly. “Her sufferings are over forever.
She has gone to heaven to be at rest.”
Elsli stood as if struck by lightning.
“Is she gone? Is Nora really gone to heaven?” she exclaimed, and then
she burst into tears, and trembled so that she could scarcely stand.
“My dear child,” said the doctor’s wife tenderly, taking Elsli by the
hand, “come and sit down with me a little while, till you feel better.”
But Elsli could not. She covered her face with her apron, and ran out of
the house, crying bitterly.
“Oh, how could she go and leave me behind?” she kept saying to herself
as she hurried back to Oak-ridge. She found Mrs. Stanhope still bending
over Nora, and sobbing as when she left her. Elsli seated herself on
Nora’s footstool, and wept in silence. It was not long before the
doctor came. He bent over the child’s form a moment, and then turned to
the mother.
“Mrs. Stanhope,” he said, and his tones were very tender, “I can do
nothing. Your little girl is gone. I will send my wife to you.”
Mrs. Stein came, but her words brought no comfort to the bereaved
mother. She heard nothing; she saw nothing but the quiet little form
that lay lifeless before her. When Mrs. Stein was convinced that she
could be of no use to her, she went across the room to Elsli, who sat
weeping on the footstool by the window, and taking her by the hand, she
led her out of the room, saying gently:--
“Now it is best for you to go home, my dear. We will not forget you, and
remember that our Father in heaven never forgets his children. Think how
well and happy Nora is! She will never be ill again, in that land where
the weary are at rest.”
“If she had only taken me with her,” moaned poor Elsli, and when Mrs.
Stein left her, as their ways parted, she could hear the sobbing child
for a long time as she slowly walked, with her apron over her eyes,
along the lane that led to her home.
At home, Mrs. Stein found the children grouped about their aunt, who was
telling them about Nora. Fred had many questions to ask about death, and
how people can die and come to life again. Emma was much depressed, for
she felt, now that it was too late, that she had not done anything to
make Nora’s illness more cheerful.
That evening Mrs. Stein and her sister were full of anxious thought.
They felt keen sympathy with the sorrowing mother at Oak-ridge, and they
talked a great deal about the blow that had fallen upon poor little
Elsli. She had not only lost a friend whose companionship had brought
her new life, but she must now go back to the hard and uncongenial labor
from which she had had a brief and blessed respite. Fani too, the only
bright spot in her dark lot, was away now, and who could tell when she
would have him again? Indeed, Fani’s fate was also a source of anxiety,
especially on account of Emma’s share in his disappearance. Would all
turn out right for the boy? Would he get a suitable education, and what
sort of a future lay before him? The information they had obtained from
Basel had not proved perfectly satisfactory. The scene-painter had, to
be sure, taken Fani into his service, but the boy had nothing to do with
the painting but to clean up the brushes and palettes, and grind the
colors; and, although he had his board and lodging from his master, he
must pay for his clothes himself. It was not a very promising outlook
for Fani. His parents were willing to have him stay away from home, but
they expected him at least to support himself, if not to send them some
money occasionally. Mrs. Stein could not decide what ought to be done,
and all this new care would have been a very heavy burden to bear, if
her sister had not lightened it by her sympathy and encouragement.
Aunty’s cheerful spirit always inspired hope and confidence.
* * * * *
The next morning, Emma, with a downcast air, asked leave to take some
flowers over to lay upon the bed by Nora. Her mother was glad to let her
go, and glad too that Fred offered to accompany his sister. The children
were admitted to the house, and shown into the room where Nora lay upon
a snow-white bed; herself as white and cold as marble.
Mrs. Stanhope was kneeling by the bedside, her face buried in the
coverlet. Emma laid her flowers upon the bed, and, with fast flowing
tears, looked upon the peaceful face, and remembered sadly that she had
not done a friendly act for the little invalid, nor helped to wile away
her lonely hours. She left the room sorry and ashamed, regretting her
selfishness, when it was too late to do any good.
A little while after, Mrs. Stein came softly into the quiet room. Mrs.
Stanhope raised her head, and, as she returned the kindly greeting, her
grief broke out, and she exclaimed with sobs:--
“Oh, if you knew how miserable I am! Why--ah, why! does God take from me
my only child? Fortune and lands, everything else he might have taken,
if he would only have left me my child! This is the very hardest fate
that could have befallen me! Why must I suffer more than any one else in
the world?”
“Dear Mrs. Stanhope,” said the doctor’s wife, as she took the poor
lady’s hand and pressed it tenderly in her own; “I feel for your sorrow,
but I beg you to think of what your child has gained. God has taken her
to himself, and she is free from pain and weariness forevermore, in his
sheltering arms. You do not know what poverty means! Think of the many
mothers who only see their children grow up to hard labor, and suffer
for want of food and clothing. Take the sorrow that God has sent you; do
not try to measure it with that of others; the sorrow that comes to each
seems the heaviest for each to bear. But our Father knows why he has
given each sorrow, and the road he leads us is the one best for us to
follow.”
Mrs. Stanhope became more tranquil as these words fell on her ear, but
her face still wore an expression of inconsolable grief. She was silent
a few moments, and then she told Mrs. Stein that she meant to take Nora
home and lay her beside the little boy in the garden by the Rhine, and
that she should send to her true friend and house-keeper Clarissa to
come at once to Oak-ridge to make the preparations for their return, and
accompany her on her painful journey. This arrangement was a great
relief to Mrs. Stein, who returned home with an easier mind, and
hastened to impart this bit of good news to her sister. But aunty was
nowhere to be found, and Emma, who was sitting alone in an unusually
subdued mood, told her mother that she was probably with Fred, who had
been looking for her, “to show her a beetle or some such thing,” she
supposed! So Mrs. Stein sat down with her little girl, who wanted to ask
her questions about Nora. Emma longed to hear that Nora had not suffered
from her neglect, and had been contented and happy without her; for she
had been feeling more and more how selfish she had been in never
repeating her first visit, merely because she had not herself enjoyed
it, never thinking what she might have done for poor sick Nora.
Fred had sought his aunt for a long time, and when he found her he
carried her off to a remote part of the garden, where stood a lonely
summer-house. There he drew her down beside him on a bench, and said he
had something to say to her alone.
“Do you know, aunty, I saw Nora to-day, and she is dead; and I cannot
see how she can come to life again, and go to heaven.”
“You cannot understand that, Fred? Neither can I. But the good God does
many things which we cannot understand, and yet we know they are. And as
we are told by One whom we can trust that we shall live again after our
body dies, we must believe it. I believe it, Fred, with all my heart.”
“But,” argued Fred, “I have always thought that life is the same in men
as in animals, and when an animal dies, it can never be made alive
again. I have noticed that myself.”
At this moment, the conversation was interrupted, for they saw the
doctor in the garden, and aunty hastened to join him, as she had
promised to visit his cauliflowers with him this evening.
Fred sat still lost in thought; he did not care for cauliflowers.