Gently he laid back the lifeless form, kissed the cold brow, and sat for a little while, reluctant to break the spell of the solemn stillness, and absorbed in the thought of the remote past which had now swallowed up the present, and of that unseen future which he vainly tried to grasp, and which seemed to him so shadowy. But, as he knelt in prayer, he registered a silent, passionate vow, that, henceforward, his life should be lived, to the utmost of his power, in the spirit of that unselfish love which he had preached so long and practised so little. The sharpest conflicts are often those which take place in silence and solitude, without any outward sign; and human lives are shaped and moulded to higher uses as silently as were the Temple stones of old.
As he slowly turned at last, to leave the room, the golden light of the new day broke in upon him from without, and he heard the silvery chimes of the Easter bells ushering in the morning that commemorates the Resurrection.
CHAPTER XXXI.
AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL.
Nora Blanchard had remained in Minton longer than she had originally intended, delayed partly by her interest in the events that had been taking place, partly because she would not go till she had made some arrangements for the future of little Cecilia. Of course, it had been impossible that the child could see her mother in those last days, and the task of breaking to her the truth that she should see that mother no more had been to Nora a terribly trying one. She soothed the child's passionate grief, as she best could; but she could not venture, as yet, to intrude upon it what she felt would be the unwelcome intelligence of her relationship to Mr. Chillingworth. When the latter, by Dr. Blanchard's advice, went away for a time to recruit at a noted health-resort, he gladly accepted Miss Blanchard's offer to take Cecilia with her to her home at Rockland for the summer, until he should be able to make up his mind as to his future arrangements. The secret of his sad story was known to very few, and those few were not likely to make it more generally known.
Meantime Lizzie Mason had made a tolerably satisfactory recovery, and had been sent back to her home, but she still had a cough which neither Nora nor Dr. Blanchard liked to hear. Miss Blanchard had formed one of her impulsive plans for transplanting the whole family to Rockland. If she could get employment for Lizzie and Jim under Mr. Foster, the benevolent mill-owner there, they would all be so much better off in the healthy, pleasant country place, and Jim would be away from his bad companions, and, by and by, he and Nelly might settle down. Lizzie's eyes sparkled with pleasure as Miss Blanchard unfolded this project.
"Oh, if it could only all happen, Miss Blanchard, it would be just lovely!" she said.
And Nora made up her mind to try to accomplish it. She was, herself, thinking longingly of the green fields and budding woods of Rockland in these early days of May; and she was growing impatient for the sight of the wild flowers that she knew were blooming fresh and fair in her favorite woodland nooks. And yet, she felt very unwilling to leave her friends in Minton, her little nephews and nieces, the "Girls' Club," and all the other interests that had engaged her thoughts daring the winter. But as the married sister, who had been staying with her family in the old homestead at Rockland was soon to take her departure, Nora's return could not be long delayed.
She bad seen a good deal of Roland Graeme of late. He had called repeatedly to bear the latest report of the progress of the invalids, in whom they were both so deeply interested. His own saddened expression, so different from the bright, eager look natural to him, and what Nora had said about his attachment to Grace, had enlisted Mrs. Blanchard's kindly feeling, and she hospitably urged the young man to come to see them often. With Nora he had always many common objects of interest, but the chief bond of sympathy, now, was the sweet memory of Grace, about whom Roland liked to talk freely when alone with Miss Blanchard, sure of her full comprehension. And he, in turn, felt for her more sympathy than was perhaps needed, on the score of the disappointment he thought she had experienced in Mr. Chillingworth. She, happily, was thoroughly cured of the incipient fancy, which had not been strong enough to seriously affect her happiness, though the moral shock could not but leave its mark—a mark which, but for the solemn experiences she had passed through, immediately after, would have been much deeper.