She had been in bed all day.
Of course it was nothing. "Just a trifling cold," that was all--but the
beginning of the end had come.
She laughed at us for our fears.
"Why, I'll be up and about the same as ever to-morrow."
To-morrow! To-morrow multiplied into dread, fearsome weeks. Yes, for
weeks she painfully lingered on her bed, and I marveled with awe at the
heroic spirit of my little girl.
The weakness increased until she looked like a dainty statue hewn in
alabaster.
It was only a trifle more than a week before the date set for our
wedding. The physician stepped from her bed and beckoned me to follow
him into the next room.
You know what he told me, and you know that I did not believe him.
"The end coming? Pshaw, what nonsense! Was there not a loving, a
merciful God above us?"
I could not deny the evidence before me. She was getting worse every
day, but I could not, would not, believe that, which even her mother had
accepted with resignation.
And next week we were to be married!
Spells came, during which reason left her, but in all her conscious
moments she spoke to me with the wisdom of another world, and gave me
then her legacy of purest, Godliest love.
Then came the day!
The afternoon sun was low when she asked me to lift her to the window.
It was a humble neighborhood, devoid of all picturesqueness. All we saw
in the last sheen of the sun's departing rays was a little girl on the
opposite sidewalk, playing with a kitten. The picture was very simple,
but my beloved one watched with smiling interest until her tired little
head fell on my shoulder.
She was so light, one did hardly know anything was in his arms, and
without disturbing her reposing position, I carried her back to her
couch. Back in her bed, we clasped hands, as foolish lovers will do,
and, still confident, still hoping, lulled by the quiet and her happy
smile, I fell asleep.
Suddenly I was awakened.
Her hand was not in mine. Her mother, weeping, knelt beside the bed.
"Why----?"
I understood, and in that same moment the edifice reared by her with
such infinite care shook to its very foundations.
In the twinkling of an eye I was my old self again. The brute, so long
subdued and partly tamed, arose in me with fury.
I drove them from the room. No one, except me, had a right there. And
then, alone with her, I reveled in my sorrow, or burst into wild rage.
There, on the dome above us, were all the glistening orbs, which she had
taught me were radiant evidences of God.
What mockery!
I rushed to the casement, and bellowing in delirium, I shook my fist at
moon and stars--and cursed the Mighty Presence.
Then came an interval.
For a time I was cool and realized.
Her soul had flown to the realms above.
Alone with her, I sat for minutes, hours, eternities, it seemed, and
every lovely feature of my Mamie Rose became forever engraven upon my
mind and heart. My right hand was resting on hers, my left was hanging
motionless by my side. Something rubbed against it. It was Bill, and
all he had been to me was forgotten. No one, not even he, had a right
there.
Again the beast flared up, and for the first and last time my Bill felt
the brutal force of my wrath. He returned defiantly from the corner
where he had landed and spoke his valid claim:
"I have a right here, Kil. You loved her, so did I, and I can
understand your sorrow."
I let him stay, and through that bitter night man and dog kept their
silent vigil beside the bier of her who had loved both.
Perhaps I was wrong to profane the quiet chamber by the presence of my
Bill, but I know she would have sanctioned it--we three were square,
honest comrades.
With the coming of the same sun whose going she and I had watched only a
few hours ago, came saner, holier thoughts. A message seemed to float
to me from her sacred lips.