Christina's heart gave a strange leap, and she felt powerless to say anything to break the spell, as it were, of her father's words. It was like walking with her eyes open over a frightful precipice. She shuddered.
"My dear child," he continued quietly, "you have been a good daughter to us—God bless you!—now I want to leave a few directions with you in case it should be as I think it will. You will have enough to live on; plenty for you, and a friend to take care of you. Christina, I should like you to ask your aunt Mary to come and live with you. Promise me."
Christina, even in that bitter hour, felt a certain repugnance to comply with her father's wish in this respect; but how could she hesitate? She would have time to talk it over with him another day—not now; oh, not now!
So she promised. "Anything you wish, my precious father!" she said, with anguish in her voice.
"I do wish it; I know it will be best—for a few years at any rate, my child."
They sat on in deep silence for some time longer. Then he spoke again; but this time the voice was not grave and authoritative, but loving and simple: "Christina, your mother and I have loved each other for forty years. We have never been separated for a single day; we have walked hand in hand all our pilgrimage; she has gone just a little way in front, and I am following. My dear, let no one think I am following her. Oh, blessed, blessed truth!
"'He calleth His own sheep by name, and leadeth them out.'
"It is Jesus we follow, my dear. He has taken her this afternoon across the water, and He tells me He thinks it is time for me to go too. But if He did not, my dear, I should have to wait; yes, wait patiently for the Lord.
"My child," he said again, clasping her hand tightly, "you must wait for the Lord! I had hoped we should all welcome Him together when He came; but He knows best!"
As the room darkened, Christina's desolation crept over her. She still believed her dear father would feel better to-morrow; but, oh, why could not she raise her head and trust in her God? What was this anguish at her heart which made her shudder to think she should never, never hear her mother's voice again? All the tenderness that she had received from her, all her own waywardness in past times, all the sins of her youth, flashed over her mind.