“I can remember all,” replied Mary.
When the doctor was about to leave, Mary and the nobleman accompanied him to the yard. She said, “do you think John will get well, doctor?”
D. It is possible; but the chances are against him. The brain is very restless, and besides there is a predisposition to monopolize the entire control of his whole system. I have never known so aggravated a disease to be overcome without the greatest care. If he should live till morning, I will see him again.
M. Would it not be well to ask the curate to pray?
D. The curate will not aid his recovery, and I would recommend that he should not visit you till John is better; but, if you really desire his aid, you will ask him to pray for your husband at home.
M. Not at home!
D. Yes; at home, God will answer, as here.
The landlord and the physician went away. The evening was still, and no comrade came to watch with the suffering patient. The lone night wasted away, until near two o’clock in the morning, when John was released from his mortal body, and we received him, as we had been received.
During the last convulsive throes of agony, his wife besought God, imploringly, to have mercy on his soul. Never went up to heaven a more sincere and fervent supplication for aid, than this dejected and despairing wife offered for the companion of her youth. Alas! what wife could do more, when mind is torn from mind, and no appearance of reuniting again. The whole heart was given to her husband, and he honored the marriage vow with a constant integrity, which made even the cottage to smile with the warm affection of true hearts. “I was well satisfied,” said she, “with my poverty, with my union to make me happy; but now, oh, my God! what shall I do? Oh, dear, what can I do in this unfriendly world?” Then she sighed, and sighed from the soul; but her sighs were aggravated by the mournful despondency of her dear children. She was heard to say: “When my father consented to our marriage,” he said, “Mary, you must not think this beautiful world is all sunshine and summer. There will come clouds of sorrow, nights of gloom, and days of adversity. You will remember my saying, Mary, when the winter of bereavement howls its angry blast around your dwelling, and no voice of kindness gladdens the solitude of your weary hours. But now you have consented to marry the man you love; be faithful, even unto death.”
Such were the silent meditations of a soul, surcharged with grief, as we witnessed at the cottage of a laborer.