So let me steal away gently and lovingly,
Only remembered by what I have done.
“My name, and my place, and my tomb all forgotten,
The brief race of life well and patiently run;
So let me pass away peacefully, silently,
Only remembered by what I have done.”
Before Edith had concluded the verses, the carriage had stopped at the entrance to the little school-house, on the side appropriated to the girls.
“The hive seems to be empty,” observed Isa, as she alighted. “I thought that work was always going on at this hour, but I hear no hum of voices from within.”
A feeble wail was the only audible sound. After tapping gently at the door, Isa entered, followed by her cousin, into the neat little school-room, which usually presented a scene of cheerful industry. Its only occupants were, however, the schoolmistress and the babe which she rocked in her arms. The poor woman looked haggard and pale from a sleepless night, her face bore the stamp of anxious care, and vainly she attempted to soothe the little sufferer, that seemed from its wasted appearance not to have many more days to live. Mrs. Collins rose on the entrance of the ladies, still continuing to rock her sick babe.
“Pray do not rise, Mrs. Collins; I fear that your dear child is very poorly,” said Isa, looking with gentle sympathy on the suffering infant.