The anniversary of Fannie's bridal was the counterpart of the
original. Sunny and genial, with here and there a white cloud
floating near the horizon, denoting a long and happy married life,
with but threatening troubles. How was the prophecy realized? Like
all riddles of earthly solution, to the contrary?
The eight brothers, with faces of stern grief in the same old
corner, side by side; the five sisters sobbing, tearful and quite
overwhelmed with sorrow, sat opposite, Their eyes were fixed upon
the same pair. Harwood knelt beside a couch in the middle of the
room, and there lay Fannie; but how changed! They had all been
summoned there, to see that new sister depart for another world; to
see the young breath grow fainter and fainter; the bright eyes close
for ever on them and their love. Oh! mystery of Life! thee we can
know and understand; but, mystery of Death, dark and fearful, only
thy chosen ones can comprehend thee. We walk to the verge of the
valley of the shadow of death with those we love; but there our
steps are stayed, and we look into the black void with wonder and
despair. Oh! faith! if ye come not then to the rescue, that death is
eternal.
Thus felt the thirteen; all older, care-worn, world-weary, standing
beside the mere child-sister of the family, whose star of life was
setting from their view behind an impassable mountain.
The sweet face was calm, but a hectic flush lay upon the cheek, as
though some life-chord still bound her to earth.
"My child," said the old white-haired physician, "if you have aught
to say, speak now; when you will awaken from the sleep this draught
will produce, it may then be too late."
"My darling Fannie," said the kneeling Harwood, "for my sake let no
thoughts of earth disturb you; all will be well if--"
His voice was broken. He bowed his head upon the wasted hand he
held, and wept.
"All _will_ be well," she said, smiling faintly. "I feel it now.
Jessie, and you, elder brother, come near; nearer yet. I love you
both, love you all. Having no relatives of my own, my husband's are
doubly mine. My heart, since our marriage-day, has been living in
the hope of your reconciliation. I was too young; I undertook too
much. I wept when my health began to fail; I did not then know that
God was giving me my wish. I would have died to have seen you all
happy. _He_ has heard my prayer; the sacrifice is made; I go happy.
Jessie, my dying wish is to see you once more the forgiving girl you
were, when you knelt with your brothers at your mother's knee. Oh!
the chain of family love is never so rudely broken but it can be
renewed. Jessie, the young lover, who died in his youth, would
counsel you to forgive. The beloved parent would whisper, 'love thy
brother as thyself;' He who bore the cross said 'Father forgive
them--.' Jessie, a weak, dying girl begs you, for her sake, to be
true to yourself."
Jessie fell upon her brother's neck, and wept. One universal sob
arose from lip to lip. Brothers and sisters so long estranged,
rushed into each other's arms. Some cried aloud, others' tears
flowed silently: some there were, whose calm joys betrayed the
disquietude of long years of disunion. They were all recalled by
Harwood's voice.
"Fannie! Fannie! This excitement will kill her."
Half raised in the bed, her cheeks scarlet and eyes glowing with
perfect delight, the sunlight making a halo around her head, was the
young wife. She drank the draught the old physician gave her, with
her eyes fixed on her husband. She murmured,
"'Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.'"
With a sigh she dropped back upon the pillow; the eyes closed, the
face became waxen white. Soon, those who watched could not tell her
slumber from the sleep of death. Silence stole on tiptoe through the
room, with her finger on her lip--
While the sunset kept shining and shining between
The old hawthorn blossoms and branches so green.