The child
who had ever walked in that narrow way, as if it were the only path in
which the children of earth might tread, had taught her bereaved mother,
that those precious words from the book of life, which she had ever
recognized, but had not strength to cling thereto in the hour of trial,
were truly Christ's words of tenderness; she could now smile upon the
chastening rod. Those dying words, as it were of him who had gone, were
as balm to the heart of Mrs. Grosvenor and the Sea-flower, for what
could be more dreadful than that they should never learn of his last
moments? But to Harry, who had been just upon the point of asking for
his father, it was as the dark funeral pall to his soul, and he
staggered to a chair.
"Where is my father?" he asked, in a hollow voice.
"In Heaven!" was the response of the Sea-flower.
There was silence in that house. Sorrow, which had reigned for a time
around that hearthstone, still lingered, striving to supersede the joy
which must go hand in hand with purity; but its icy touch was to be of
gentler mien, its cold, cold breath mingling with that of more genial
spheres, helping to swell the--"Father, thy will be done.
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