"Come with me, Beulah."
"And this is death? Oh, my God, save me from such a death!"
She clasped her hands over her eyes, and shivered; then, rising from her kneeling posture, threw herself on a couch, and buried her face in its cushions. That long night of self-communion was never forgotten.
The day of the funeral was cold, dark, and dismal. A January wind howled through the streets, and occasional drizzling showers enhanced the gloom. The parlors and sitting room were draped, and on the marble slab of one of the tables stood the coffin, covered with a velvet pall. Once before Beulah had entered a room similarly shrouded; and it seemed but yesterday that she stood beside Lilly's rigid form. She went in alone, and waited some moments near the coffin, striving to calm the wild tumult of conflicting sorrows in her oppressed heart; then lifted the covering and looked on the sleeper. Wan, waxen, and silent. No longer the fitful sleep of disease, nor the refreshing slumber of health, but the still iciness of ruthless death. The black locks were curled around the forehead, and the beautiful hands folded peacefully over the heart that should throb no more with the anguish of earth. Death had smoothed the brow and put the trembling mouth at rest, and every feature was in repose. In life she had never looked so placidly beautiful.
"What availed all her inquiries, and longings, and defiant cries? She died, no nearer the truth than when she began. She died without hope and without knowledge. Only death could unseal the mystery," thought Beulah, as she looked at the marble face and recalled the bitterness of its lifelong expression. Persons began to assemble; gradually the rooms filled. Beulah bent down and kissed the cold lips for the last time, and, lowering her veil, retired to a dim corner. She was very miserable, but her eyes were tearless, and she sat, she knew not how long, unconscious of what passed around her. She heard the stifled sobs of the bereaved parents as in a painful dream; and when the solemn silence was broken she started, and saw a venerable man, a stranger, standing at the head of the coffin; and these words fell upon her ears like a message from another world:
"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; and he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die!"
Cornelia had not believed; was she utterly lost? Beulah asked herself this question, and shrank from the answer. She did not believe; would she die as Cornelia died, without comfort? Was there but one salvation? When the coffin was borne out, and the procession formed, she went on mechanically, and found herself seated in a carriage with Mrs. Asbury and her two daughters. She sank back in one corner, and the long line of carriages, extending for many squares, slowly wound through the streets. The wind wailed and sobbed, as if in sympathy, and the rain drizzled against the window glass. When the procession reached the cemetery, it was too wet to think of leaving the carriages, but Beulah could see the coffin borne from the hearse, and heard the subdued voice of the minister; and when the shrouded form of the only child was lowered into its final resting-place, she groaned, and hid her face in her hands. Should they meet no more? Hitherto Mrs. Asbury had forborne to address her, but now she passed her arm round the shuddering form, and said gently:
"My dear Beulah, do not look so hopelessly wretched. In the midst of life we are in death; but God has given a promise to cheer us all in sad scenes like this. St. John was told to write, 'From henceforth, blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, for they rest from, their labors.'"
"And do you think she is lost forever because she did not believe?
Do you? Can you?" cried Beulah vehemently.
"Beulah, she had the Bible, which promises eternal life. If she entirely rejected it, she did so voluntarily and deliberately; but only God knows the heart—only her Maker can judge her. I trust that even in the last hour the mists rolled from her mind."