“And it is hardly twelve months since he was married,” she sobbed. “Oh, Ruth, Ruth, it is too cruel!”
“Dear,” answered Ruth, “there is no death to such a man as Basil Stanhope.”
“He was so young, Ruth.”
“I know. ‘His high-born brothers called him hence’ at the age of twenty-nine, but
“‘It is not growing like a tree,
In bulk, doth make men better be;
Or standing like an oak three hundred year,
To fall at last, dry, bald and sear:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May;
Although it fall and die that night,
It was the plant and flower of light.’”
At these words the Judge put down his Review to listen to Ethel’s story, and when she ceased speaking he had gone far further back than any antique classic for compensation and satisfaction:
“He being made perfect in a short time fulfilled a long time. For his soul pleased the Lord, therefore hasted He to take him away from among the wicked.” [2] And that evening there was little conversation. Every heart was busy with its own thoughts.
2 ([return])
[ Wisdom of Solomon, IV., 13, 14.]