I see all this as if it were a scene in a dream or as a picture,—something in which I have no part; and yet I feel that my heart throbbed in that mother's bosom.
I know that after she had sent away all kind friends, to watch alone that last night, it was literally and truly a "white night" to her.
She felt neither sorrow nor grief.
Yesterday her heart was torn with anguish, when those heavenly eyes grew dim with the death-glaze.
To-morrow it will be rent again, when the little form is hidden from her in its white casket; and again—at that bitterest moment Life can give—when the first handful of earth makes hollow echo above it.
But to-night there is the uplifted feeling of perfect peace.
Although it is the third sleepless night, there is no thought of weariness. All through the short hours she sits and feasts her eyes on the angelic face with its look of joy unutterable.
And Bruno watches with her.
The next day Bruno does not ask to join the sad procession leaving the cottage.