LAST HOURS.
"In this dim world of clouding cares
We rarely know, till 'wildered eyes
See white wings lessening up the skies,
The angels with us unawares.
· · · · ·
"Strange glory streams through life's wild rents,
And through the open door of death
We see the heaven that beckoneth
To the beloved going hence."
GERALD MASSEY.
"Read me the twenty-third Psalm," said Miss Henderson.
It was the evening before the day fixed upon by her physicians for the
surgical operation she had decided to submit to.
Faith was in her place by the bedside, her hand resting in that of her
aunt. Mr. Armstrong sat near--an open Bible before him. Miss Sampson had
gone down the field for a "snatch of air."
Clear upon the stillness fell the sacred words of cheer. There was a
strong, sure gladness in the tone that uttered them, that told they were
born anew, in the breathing, from a heart that had proved the goodness
and mercy of the Lord.
In a solemn gladness, also, two other hearts received them, and said,
silently, Amen!
"Now the fourteenth of St. John."
"'In my father's house are many mansions.' 'I will dwell in the house of
the Lord, forever.' Yes. It holds us all. Under one roof. One
family--whatever happens! Now, put away the book, and come here; you
two!"
It was done; and Roger Armstrong and Faith Gartney stood up, side by
side, before her.
"I haven't said so before, because I wouldn't set people troubling
beforehand. But in my own mind, I'm pretty sure of what's coming. And if
I hadn't felt so all along, I should now. When the Lord gives us our
last earthly wish, and the kind of peace comes over that seems as if it
couldn't be disturbed by anything, any more, we may know, by the hush of
it, that the day is done. I'm going to bid you good night, Faith, and
send you home. Say your prayers, and thank God, for yourself and for me.
Whatever you hear of me, to-morrow, take it for good news; for it _will_
be good. Roger Armstrong! Take care of the child! Child! love your
husband; and trust in him; for you may!"
Close, close--bent Faith above her aunt, and gave and took that solemn
good-night kiss.
"'The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the
communion of the Holy Ghost, be with us all. Amen!'"
With the word of benediction, Roger Armstrong turned from the bedside,
and led Faith away.
And the deeper shadows of night fell, and infolded the Old House, and
the hours wore on, and all was still. Stillest, calmest of all, in the
soul of her who had dwelt there for nearly threescore years and ten, and
who knew, none the less, that it would be surely home to her wheresoever
her place might be given her next, in that wide and beautiful "House of
the Lord!"
It was a strange day that succeeded; when they sat, waiting so, through
those morning hours, keeping such Sabbath as heart and life do keep, and
are keeping, somewhere, always, in whatever busy workday of the world,
when great issues come to solemnize the time.
Almost as still at the Old House as at Cross Corners. No hurry. No
bustle. Glory quietly doing her needful duties, and obeying all
direction of the nurse. Mr. Armstrong in his own room, in readiness
always, for any act or errand that might be required of him. Henderson
Gartney alone in that ancient parlor at the front. The three physicians
and Miss Sampson shut with Aunt Faith into her room. A faint, breathless
odor of ether creeping everywhere, even out into the summer air.
It was eleven o'clock, when a word was spoken to Roger Armstrong, and he
took his hat and walked across the field. Faith, with pale, asking face,
met him at the door.
"Well--thus far," was the message; and a kiss fell upon the uplifted
forehead, and a look of boundless love and sympathy into the fair,
anxious eyes. "All has been done; and she is comfortable. There may
still be danger; but the worst is past."
Then a brazen veil fell from before the face of day. The sunshine
looked golden again, and the song of birds rang out, unmuffled. The
strange, Sabbath stillness might be broken. They could speak common
words, once more.
Faith and her mother sat there, in the hillside parlor, talking
thankfully, and happily, with Roger Armstrong. So a half hour passed by.
Mr. Gartney would come, with further tidings, when he had been able to
speak with the physicians.
The shadows of shrub and tree crept and shortened to the lines of noon,
and still, no word. They began to wonder, why.
Mr. Armstrong would go back. He might be wanted, somehow. They should
hear again, immediately, unless he were detained.
He was not detained. They watched him up the field, and into the angle
of the doorway. He was hidden there a moment, but not more. Then they
saw him turn, as one lingering and reluctant, and retrace his steps
toward them.
"Faith! Stay here, darling! Let me meet him first," said Mrs. Gartney.
Faith shrank back, fearful of she knew not what, into the room they had
just quitted.
A sudden, panic dread and terror seized her. She felt her hearing
sharpened, strained, involuntarily. She should catch that first word,
however it might be spoken. She dared not hear it, yet. Out at the
hillside door, into the shade of the deep evergreens, she passed, with a
quick impulse.
Thither Roger Armstrong followed, presently, and found her. With the
keen instinct of a loving sympathy, he knew she fled from speech. So he
put his arm about her, silently, tenderly; and led her on, and up, under
the close, cool shade, the way their steps had come to know so well.
"Take it for good news, darling. For it is good," he said, at last, when
he had placed her in the rocky seat, where she had listened to so many
treasured words--to that old, holy confidence--of his.
And there he comforted her.
* * * * *
A sudden sinking--a prostration beyond what they had looked for, had
surprised her attendants; and, almost with their notice of the change,
the last, pale, gray shadow had swept up over the calm, patient face,
and good Aunt Faith had passed away.
Away--for a little. Not out of God's house. Not lost out of His
household.
* * * * *
This was her will.
"I, Faith Henderson, spinster, in sound mind, and of my own will,
direct these things.
"That to my dear grandniece, Faith Henderson Gartney, be given from
me, as my bequest, that portion of my worldly property now
invested in two stores in D---- Street, in the city of Mishaumok.
That this property and interest be hers, for her own use and
disposal, with my love.
"Also, that my plate, and my box of best house linen, which stands
beside the press in the northwest chamber, be given to her, Faith
Henderson Gartney; and that my nephew, Henderson Gartney, shall,
according to his own pleasure and judgment, appropriate and dispose
of any books, or articles of old family value and interest. But
that beds, bedding, and all heavy household furniture, with a
proper number of chairs and other movables, be retained in the
house, for its necessary and suitable furnishing.
"And then, that all this residue of personal effects, and my real
estate in the Old Homestead at Kinnicutt Cross Corners, and my
shares in the Kinnicutt Bank, be placed in the hands of my nephew,
Henderson Gartney, to be held in trust during the natural life of
my worthy and beloved handmaiden, Gloriana McWhirk; for her to
occupy said house, and use said furniture, and the income of said
property, so long as she can find at least four orphan children to
maintain therewith, and 'make a good time for, every day.'
"Provided, that in case the said Gloriana McWhirk shall marry, or
shall no longer so employ this property, or in case that she shall
die, said property is to revert to my above-named grandniece, Faith
Henderson Gartney, for her and her heirs, to their use and behoof
forever.
"And if there be any failure of a legal binding in this paper that
I write, I charge it upon my nephew, Henderson Gartney, on his
conscience, as I believe him to be a true and honest man, to see
that these my effects are so disposed of, according to my plain
will and intention.
"(Signed) FAITH HENDERSON.
"(Witnessed)
ROGER ARMSTRONG,
HIRAM WASGATT,
LUTHER GOODELL."