"O, Lord of Light, steep thou our souls in thee!
That when the daylight trembles into shade,
And falls the silence of mortality,
And all is done, we shall not be afraid;
But pass from light to light; from what doth seem,
Into the very heart and heaven of our dream."
--R. W. GILDER.
The air is heavy which we have breathed recently; let us visit the
sea, and survey there the pictures of love and peace which celebrate
the coming of Spring. It is the last on earth to one we know.
Ingeborg has grown more and more feeble. The journey to Berlin and
the exciting circumstances attending her return have exhausted much
of her waning strength. But she is very happy. Wulf lives with
Karen, it is true; but he is still near her, and in consultation with
the resident physician. They can do very little for the sick girl.
To watch over her condition and lighten her pain, Wulf may be
instrumental. Ah! the hopes were idle which he and Captain Nielsen
had entertained upon the completion of his studies, when he should be
able to cure Ingeborg; it had rather been that the feeble girl had
rescued the strong young man.
Wulf remained here, because it was necessary for the restoration of
his health. He had severe struggles. Besides the battle against
temptation was the problem whether he should become a fisherman
again, as an expiation for the past. But of what avail would such a
conclusion be now? Would not an expiation in spirit be better, an
emulation of his mother's unassuming life be more useful, in his
former chosen calling to others? Therefore he decided to prepare for
his examination in this quiet place.
Ingeborg never thought the world could be so beautiful as this past
year had been. She longed to go out on the water as before, to
listen to the waves' melodies. The Spring had appeared so timely as
if for her sake. Leaning upon Wulf's arm, she is again on the beach,
hearing the songs which she wished might lull her to eternal rest.
Berlin lay like a dim picture behind her. She did not fear the
people now; she had no resentment against them now. Nothing but
compassion reigned in her heart. If Wulf were only perfectly well
again, she knew he would stand high above all those people. He dared
not remain here where so few would appreciate him, no more than a
warrior might conceal himself in a hermitage before the advancing
host. Wulf must go forth to battle--must save the poor, of whom she
had seen so few, but concerning whom she had heard so much; he must
help them out of their troubles in life to victory. Where he led,
all should follow; in his ship many would be taken, who, without him,
would drift on the wide ocean of destruction. Yes; he should be the
pilot to guide all to a haven of rest.
Ingeborg wished now that she might live to witness all this, but she
felt confident it would be accomplished if Wulf's health were only
restored. How should he regain it? O, if he loved God with all his
heart, supremely, it would be well with him; the world would lie at
his feet, and he would be happy! These were Ingeborg's musings.
One day, as they sauntered to the beach, the sea lay before them as a
great Æolian harp moved by the zephyrs. Wulf had brought a book to
read to Ingeborg. On the frontispiece was a portrait of the author,
beneath which were the words: "Let Thy grace be sufficient to keep me
from the world's allurements, and yet keep me here to lift it up to
Thee!"
"How beautiful!" exclaimed the invalid. "O, he must have been a
grand man! What a handsome, earnest face! He resembles you!"
Wulf laughed.
"All good people in your eyes bear a resemblance to me."
"O, Wulf, if you are ever painted you must have these words under the
portrait."
"Don't be foolish," replied the young physician; "that will never be.
Besides I should never write what I did not believe."
"Now you could not, I know," responded Ingeborg, earnestly; "but when
the time comes you will."
"Do you think it will ever come?"
"Very certainly."
"When?"
"I do not know. When you are good enough to love all men," said
Ingeborg, softly. There was an eloquent pause. "Please, Wulf, read
now," she continued.
If she had not been so ill, Wulf would never have been so indulgent;
but how could he deny any thing to the poor child whose days on earth
were so few and numbered?
He opened the book cheerfully, and began to read. While he was
reading, tender feelings were excited within him. The poetry made a
deep impression on his heart. He was silent for a time, then asked:
"Tell me, Ingeborg, what shall I do in order to be good?"
"You must love God above all else," replied his companion.
"What do you demand? Love begets love. If God rules over all, he
has not favored me very much. He has taken from me every thing upon
which my heart leaned--mother, friends, honor, and soon you will be
gone. He has given me restless struggles and longings, without
needful strength to attain the end. But I shall not complain against
God. I blame only myself for the failure of my life to----but
forgive me, if I am not so strong in faith as you are."
While Wulf dilated thus upon goodness, his heart was occupied with
one thought--Sibylla; and yet he had never mentioned her name to
Ingeborg.
"You must not talk so," said the latter, with tears in her eyes.
"God has always loved you, and guided you out of his great love."
"Not to himself; no, there you mistake."
"Wulf, you will return to your Father's home, and then recognize that
there is no place so beautiful. If you only knew how good he is!"
she exclaimed, with an expression of rapture that astonished her
listener, and he made no reply.
Many other times the two were thus together, and during some of them
she read to him out of her dearest book. With that she was
thoroughly familiar. She could give no learned explanations; but she
had laid hold of the gospel with all her heart, and it escaped from
her lips how Jesus loved her; how he healed here, and comforted
there; reproved this one, and instructed that one, but loved all.
"You see," she would continue, with an enthusiasm which seemed to be
inspired, "while he forgave all the sins of his children, he said to
them: 'As the Father hath sent me, so send I thee into the world;'
and then he said: 'I am not come to do mine own will, but the will of
him who hath sent me.' See, Wulf; he also says to you to go into the
world and do his will."
The young man sat beside her and received the word; but it did not
impress his heart. "Fallacies," he would have replied; but then if
these fallacies make one so happy, was not the view he held cold and
heartless, and one which he had never known to make any one happy?
Ingeborg seemed to divine his thoughts: "Wulf, this faith accompanied
your mother through life, and made her death peaceful. She was
obedient, and did what God sent her to do. It was such a beautiful
death, Mother Esther's. How happy she must have been to rescue so
many! I have often mourned because I have never been useful, never
helped any body. O, it must be blessed to save one soul! But the
dear Lord has said to me: 'Be still, and let my grace be sufficient
for thee,' and now I am more cheerful."
Wulf was silent. There was no room here for resistance.
As the end approached for Ingeborg, no one recognized it so clearly
as Wulf. When the flowers she had planted so lovingly on Mother
Esther's grave should have bloomed, then her time would come. And
Ingeborg, too, was perfectly aware of it. But the longing for death
and heaven which once possessed her had disappeared, although the
fear of death was still absent. This life was now beautiful to her.
Even this suffering was beautiful, she often thought; but she knew
the life beyond was even more beautiful, and her heart rejoiced that
it was so well with her, and that she was accompanied to the entrance
with so much love, and that she would be welcomed at the portals of
the heavenly Jerusalem by Eternal Love.
She arranged all her temporal affairs. After providing for faithful
Johanna, she made Wulf sole heir to her not insignificant estate.
Once she had decided to leave all to the poor; but Wulf needed it
now, and in his hands it would bear rich interest for the sick and
needy. He never dreamed of the fact, and Ingeborg rejoiced over the
moment when he should discover it. "Then he will be happy, and think
lovingly of me, to know how heartily I loved him."
Then she distributed her personal treasures. Articles which had
become endeared by association, her jewels, her wardrobe--in them all
she included so much love that the gifts were doubly valuable. There
was no one of her acquaintances in the village without some evidence
of kind remembrance.
"Now I am ready; I have nothing more to do," she said to Wulf one
evening. "I have given something to every body, but you shall have
the best."
"Whatever you give me is good, and I shall prize it."
"Will you really prize it, and really make use of it? I will give it
to you now; to-morrow it may be too late." She lifted her Bible, and
handed it to Wulf with trembling hands. "It belongs now to you; it
was the dearest of all my possessions."
Wulf received it with deep emotion: "Thank you; I shall always value
it as a treasure."
"And read it?" asked Ingeborg earnestly.
"Also that, for your sake."
"O, Wulf, for my sake, you will not read it long," she murmured.
"How soon you will forget me! But only begin, and all will be well."
Wulf opened it and found written, in Ingeborg's plain script, on the
first leaf: "Let us love Him, for He first loved us."
After this she was unable to leave her couch. For hours she lay as
still as a child, gazing at her own folded hands.
"What do you see on your hands?" said Wulf once.
"I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the
latter day upon the earth: and though after my skin worms destroy
this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for
myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another."
They could not enjoy very long conversations, for her breath was
short; but she had a pleasant "Thank you," for every service of love.
She began now to grow impatient.
"Will it be much longer?" she asked.
"No, Ingeborg; you will soon be at rest," said Wulf, tenderly.
A mother could not have cared more affectionately for her than he.
He realized that she had grown to his heart, and that her departure
would make a void in his life. But she would not leave him alone;
her words and the influence of her life would remain.
Painful hours of suffering and care followed. Wulf bent over her.
He could not understand why his rough hand agitated the delicate form
of the dying one; he desired to alleviate, but did not succeed. "O,
God help me!" he groaned, unwittingly.
An expression of joy illuminated the sick one's face. "I am so
happy," she whispered.
"Ingeborg, you are happy now in this suffering?"
"Yes."
"Tell me why?"
"Jesus loves me; and he also loves you."
Wulf started back.
The evening shadows began to gather. Ingeborg slumbered lightly.
Wulf informed Johanna that he would remain all night, and she must be
in readiness to be called.
"Comes He?" said the faithful servant.
"Who?"
"The Bridegroom," she replied, with tears.
"No; death," responded Wulf.
But still he lingered, although the sound of his wings was near. The
air was oppressive in the room, and the dying one breathed with
difficulty. Wulf opened a window. The darkness of night lay over
the earth, unrelieved by a single star.
He bent over her, as her face now wore the impress of death; but he
knew some hours might elapse before the final struggle. She opened
her beautiful eyes. O, those deep-blue, beautiful eyes, in whose
depths Wulf himself now longed to gaze once more! No fever
over-clouded Ingeborg's mind, which was as clear as her vision. She
recognized the watcher, and over her wan face played a smile. He
endeavored to arrange her position more comfortably; her eyes met his
in a long, searching look. It was now her only language--O no;
lightly, softly came the whispered words: "Wulf, please kiss me!"
He kissed her lips and eyes fondly. A rosy blush flitted over the
sweet face; then she smiled, and fell asleep again.
Wulf was unnerved. Clear as a flash of lightning a revelation came,
of which he had not dreamed. Ingeborg loved him! Not as a child,
not as a sister, but with the whole strength of her being! He had
been so accustomed to her for so long that he accepted her affection
as a matter of course. The chaste bud of this womanly love had not
unfolded itself in the sunshine of reciprocation, and could never
blossom in its blessed beams; therefore it had remained a bud. But
in the hour of death its sheath had unfolded, and now lay as a
flower, so beautiful, so pure, so sweet!
Wulf sat motionless beside Ingeborg's couch. With anxious suspense
Johanna stood near. Would she waken again? Lightly and more lightly
the breathing came and went; more still it became in the heaving
bosom. Wulf's heart also stood still. There was a deep sigh, and
Ingeborg was with Him her soul loved even more than those she had
left behind. Wulf remained at the bedside a long, long time. The
pale, sweet face had lost its lines of pain, and bore an expression
of such joy and rapture that he was moved to ask again and again:
"What dost thou behold? Why art thou so happy?" But the lips which
had always been so ready to respond were silent. How strange that
his thoughts should suddenly revert to the picture he had seen with
Sibylla! That wild rider, with all his zeal, had not reached the
goal of happiness. Sibylla, with her hungry heart, with her longings
after joy and contentment, was unhappy: no one knew this better than
he. And yet this child so frail, so delicate, had not only always
been happy, but was now enjoying its fruition.
And Wulf?
He hurried away. As he stepped from the dwelling, deep silence
reigned around. The sea she had loved sang its old wind-melodies.
He sat down, mechanically, in the old spot where they had so often
been together. The rosy beams of the morning began to gleam in the
East. The shadows flew away before the coming day, like ghosts,
hither and thither. The glorious sun arose, and kissed the sea with
a morning's greeting, and its waters blushed beneath the kiss, and
grew bright and joyous afar. The night was gone; a new sky had
dawned.
Wulf covered his face in his hands, and wept bitterly.