Frank’s voice failed, his head fell back upon the pillows, and he remained for a length of time, with his eyes closed in solemn meditation and prayer, while Laura and Harry, unable so much as to look at each other, leaned upon the table, and wept in silence.

Laura felt as if she had grown old in a moment,—as if life could give no more joy—and as if she herself stood already on the verge of the grave. It appeared like a dream that she had ever been happy, and a dreadful reality to which she was now awakened. “Behold, God taketh away! who can hinder him? who will say unto him, What doest thou?” “Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils.” These were texts which forced themselves on her mind, with mournful emphasis, while she felt how helpless is earthly [235] ]affection when the dispensations of God are upon us. All her love for Frank could not avert the stroke of death,—all his attachment to her must now be buried in the grave,—and the very tenderness they felt for each other, only embittered the sorrows of this dreadful moment.

From that day, Harry and Laura, according to the advice of uncle David, testified their affection for Frank, not by tears and useless lamentations, though these were not always to be controlled in private, but by the incessant, devoted attention with which they watched his looks, anticipated his wishes, and thought every exertion a pleasure which could in the slightest degree contribute to his comfort. Frank, on his part, spared their feelings, by often concealing what he suffered, and by speaking of his own death, as if it had been a journey on which he must prepare with readiness to enter, reminding them, that never to die, was never to be happy, as all they saw him endure from sickness, became nothing to what he endured from struggling against sin and temptation, which were the great evils of existence,—and that from all these he would be for ever freed by death. “Those who are prepared for the change,” added he, solemnly, “can neither live too long, nor die too soon; for when God gives us His blessing, He then sends heaven, as it were, into the soul before the soul ascends to heaven; and I trust to being gifted with faith and submission for all that may be ordained during my few remaining hours upon earth.”

Yet, with every desire to feel resigned, Frank himself was sometimes surprised out of his usual fortitude, especially when thinking that he must never more hope to see Lady Harriet, towards whom he cast many a longing and affecting thought, saying once, with deep emotion, “If I could only see grandmama again, I should feel quite well!” One evening, as he sat near an open window, gazing on the rich tints of twilight, and breathing with more than [236] ]usual ease, a wandering musician paused with her guitar, and sung several airs with great pathos and expression. At length she played the tune of “Home! sweet home,” to which Frank listened for some moments with intense agitation, till, clasping his hands and bursting into tears, he exclaimed, in accents of powerful emotion,

“Home! That happy home! Oh! never—never more,—my home is in the grave.”

Laura wept convulsively while he added in broken accents, “I shall still be remembered—still lamented—you must not love me too well, Laura,—not as I love you, or your sorrow would be too great; but long hence, when Harry and you are happy together, surrounded with friends, think sometimes of one who must for ever be absent,—who loved you better than them all,—whose last prayer will be for you both. Oh! who can tell what my feelings are! I can do nothing now but cause distress and anguish to those who love me best!”

“Frank, I would not exchange your affection for the wealth of worlds. As long as I live, it will be my greatest earthly happiness to have had such a brother; and if we are to suffer a sorrow that I cannot name, and dare not think of, you are teaching me how to bear it, and leaving us the only comfort we can have, in knowing that you are happy.”

“Many plans and many hopes I had for the future, Laura,” added Frank; “but there is no future to me now in this world. Perhaps I may escape a multitude of sorrows, but how gladly would I have shared all yours, and ensured my best happiness by uniting with Harry and you in living to God. If you both learn more by my death than by my life, then, indeed, I do rejoice. With respect to myself, it matters but little a few years or hours sooner, for I may say, in the words of Job, ‘though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.’”

Frank’s sufferings increased every day, and became so [237] ]very great at last, that the Doctor proposed giving him strong doses of laudanum, to bring on a stupor and allay the pain; but when this was mentioned to him, he said, “I know it is my duty to take whatever you prescribe, and I certainly shall, but if we can do without opiates, let me entreat you to refrain from them. Often formerly at sea I used to think it very sad how few of those I attended in sickness were allowed by the physician to die in possession of their senses, on account of being made to take laudanum, which gave them false spirits and temporary ease. Let me retain my faculties as long as they are mercifully granted to me. I can bear pain,—at least, God grant me strength to do so,—but I cannot willingly enter the presence of my Creator in a state little short of intoxication.”

Many days of agony followed this resolution on the part of Frank, but though the medicine, which would have brought some hours of oblivion, lay within reach, he persevered in wishing to preserve his consciousness, whatever suffering it might cost; and though now and then a prayer for bodily relief was wrung from him in his acute agony, the most frequent and fervent supplications that he uttered night and day were, in an accent of intense emotion, “God have mercy upon my soul.”