Miriamne was called to a late breakfast by the kindly sister of Adolphus. The aged woman said little, but every act seemed freighted with motherly interest, and was like balm to the heart conscious chiefly of loneliness and wretchedness. The maiden longed to have the elder woman solicit her confidence, but the latter did not respond to the mute, though manifest desire. “It is better so. God’s work is best done in an hour like this, when He alone is left to searching and counsel.” So thought this aged minister. Experience under Father Adolphus had given her this wisdom.
The coming of evening brought to the little religious house its master all cheerful, yet well wearied by a day of ministering for God.
“Art here yet, daughter?” was his first greeting.
“Yes; where else should I be? I’m friendless, lost, unhappy; even to a vague longing for death; but I’m frightened at that longing, since it seems as if I was as friendless in Heaven as on earth. Oh, it’s awful to be a two-fold orphan!”
Just then the church-bell rang forth a merry peal.
Miriamne looked a question, and the old priest continued: “Hark, it’s the pæan of peace, declaring that the Day Spring from on high has visited all those in the shadow of death.”
“Another service?”
“Yes, the best of all. We cling to the hours of this day and battle night away in joy, thus declaring our hope in the resurrection, the end of all nights. Listen, that’s my organ, the one I myself made.”
Miriamne listened, and there was wafted to her an Easter anthem; at intervals containing the sentence: “Thou that takest away the sins of the world have mercy.”