TO BEGIN LIFE ANEW, AS IT WERE.
When a few hours later Morlene arrived at her home in R----, she found
crepe on the door, and was told by a neighbor that was just leaving, that
Harry had died that day. She stood as if rooted to the spot, her beautiful
eyes recording the storm of pity that was rising in her bosom. Mechanically
she turned and placed one foot on the step to the porch, as if to leave.
"Horror! Horror! Horror everywhere!" she cried out. "But why am I fleeing?
It is abroad in the whole expanse of earth. If Harry _was_ to die, tell me,
tell me, why he could not have awaited to carry my forgiveness with him."
In that moment, looking back upon her whole career since the death of
Maurice Dalton, she felt her faith in the benevolent character of the
arbiter of human destinies rudely shaken. Her body recoiled in response to
a like impulse of her soul that shrank from the benumbing misanthropism
that sought to lay its cold dead fingers on her heart. In one last supreme
effort to retain her faith she burst forth into song. In tones angelic,
from a heaving bosom, she poured forth the following words:
"Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens--Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless,--O abide with me!"
When Morlene began to sing her eyes glistened with tears; but these now
disappeared as a look of submission stole therein. Again humbly obedient to
the forces that were guiding her life, she entered her home, knelt and
gazed long at the features of Harry, her spirit seeking to unravel that
mystic smile that his face was wearing even in death.
* * * * *
Two days later the business men of R---- swore, the housewives grew red in
the face, but it was all of no avail. The Negro laboring men and cooks were
determined upon going to Harry's funeral, even if it cost them their jobs.
So, business was partially paralyzed and the white women of fashionable
circles had to enter their own kitchens while the Negroes thronged to the
church wherein the funeral services were to be held.
Though the funeral was to take place at two o'clock, the edifice was
crowded at twelve, those anxious for seats rushing there thus early.
According to the custom of the church to which Harry belonged, his body had
lain therein all the night previous and his brethren and sisters of the
church had assembled and conducted a song and prayer service over his
remains. When the hour for the funeral arrived, the pulpit was full of
ministers of various denominations.
Harry had, according to the custom prevailing, chosen the hymns to be sung
at his funeral, the text from which the funeral sermon was to be preached,
the ministers who were to officiate--in fact, had arranged for every detail
of the occasion. Everything was done according to his wishes.
The services were at last brought to a close and the funeral procession was
formed. The hearse led the way being followed by the great concourse of the
members of the church, walking _en masse_ and chanting mournful dirges as
they proceeded. Following the throng came the carriage containing Morlene
and Stephen Dalton, Harry's father. The old man's form is now bent, his
short hair white and he is sad at heart that it is Harry's funeral and not
his own. Following this carriage containing Morlene and Stephen Dalton was
that of the banker, who with his wife and children had come to pay this
tribute of respect to the memory of Harry. When the procession reached the
cemetery, twilight had come to render the interment peculiarly solemn.
Harry was lowered to his last resting place and each one of his immediate
friends picked up a clod and cast it into the open grave, the good-bye
salutation for the dead. All staid until the grave was covered over, then
turned to leave.
The cemetery in which Harry had been laid to rest was upon an elevation.
When the carriage containing Morlene had proceeded homeward for some
distance and was at the point where the slowly declining elevation had
reached a level with the lower lands, she caused the driver to stop for a
few minutes while she and Stephen Dalton alighted. The two stood and looked
for awhile in silence toward the cemetery above them, the lighted lamps
burning dimly among the trees up there. One solitary star peered out of the
eastern sky. Its lonely light, like words spoken in the hour of grief,
evidently sought to cheer, but only served to make the feeling of sadness
deepen.
By and by in tones soft and low and earnest, Morlene broke the silence,
saying: "Father, Harry's body lies up yonder, and, behold, the place is
lighted. May we not hope that his spirit, in spite of his weaknesses, has
gone _upward_, and may we not also hope that there the spirit, too, has
light, more light than came to it in this darkened world?" Stephen Dalton
made no reply. The only thing that he now cared to answer was the final
summons. He regarded himself as an alien on earth. The two re-entered the
carriage and drove to the city.
The next day, Morlene repaired to the Dalton estate and buried at the
designated spot the box that Aunt Catherine had entrusted to her care. Thus
came to close one epoch in Morlene's life.