“Oh yes, and it is dark—lonely.”
“Jesus is there, my dear; trust in Him.”
“Our Saviour is waiting, Phœbe. He is near. Do not fear. Lift up your heart unto the Lord.”
A light broke over her face, and the moaning ceased. She moved her hand to her breast; and, lifting the sheet, Miss Lane saw lying there, the little Prayer-book she had given her, with its faded heliotrope between the leaves. The tears fell faster, and she kissed the poor, wasted cheek of the girl.
“That makes me happy—” she murmured, with such a look of delight that a great pang passed through the teacher’s heart, as she thought of how little love had brightened the poor girl’s life, when one kiss was felt amidst her suffering to be such a joy.
“I’ll remember it in Paradise—you have taught me the way there,” she continued.
And now Mr. Payne came, and the solemn sacrament began. Kneeling round the bed of that departing soul, the broken body and shed blood of the Lord were received by chastened spirits—while “the peace which passeth understanding” rested in the hearts of all.
It was over, and Phœbe lay on her pillow exhausted, but with a calm mind, and an expression of perfect joy on her face. And now the end was very near. For one, two hours, the soul wrestled with the body, and the pain was hard to bear: but then a calmer time came, when she was free from pain, and before sun-setting she fell asleep, or rather woke into light and life.
Her friend smoothed back the soft hair, closed the eyes, took the little Prayer-book from the dead hands, gave it to the humbled father with a silent prayer, and reverently kissing the marble brow, went softly home through the quiet woods, feeling as if she had been close to heaven.