"Closed for ever," she said to herself; "that book can never be opened again."
The room grew darker still. She ventured to chafe the fingers of the loved hand she held. He did not respond; and she rose to light the gas, feeling for the first time that perhaps she ought to speak to the doctor about her father's low condition. But the fingers did not yield as usual to her movement, and, terrified, she called him over and over again. Then she stooped and kissed his forehead; it was cold; and at that moment she knew that he too had been safely carried through the dark river, and landed on the other side.
When supper-time had passed, and the maid at last entered the room, the sight that met her eyes remained printed on her memory for many a long day. In the arm-chair sat the dear old gentleman who had won all their hearts, and kneeling before him, with her arms tightly clasped round his neck, and her face buried in his breast, lay his daughter. Worn out by long watching, spent with grief, and finding comfort for a few moments in her passionate embrace, Christina had fallen asleep.
The people at the lodgings dared not wake her, but sent quickly for the doctor, who lived near. He soon came; and in a moment whispered that "their care must be for her."
A small mattress was lifted in; her clinging arms were tenderly loosened, and she was laid upon it, and borne into the next room.
"He was all I had left," she murmured, as her head touched the pillow—"all but Jesus."
[CHAPTER X.]
BEREFT OF ALL.