"Thank you, Madge; you did not know her, but you weep for me. God bless you!"
The old man is in the midst of his household. It is some festive day. He holds feebly his place at the head of the board. He utters in feeble tones—a Thanksgiving.
His married Nelly is there with two blooming children. Frank is there with his bride. Madge—dearest of all—is seated beside the old man, watchful of his comfort, and assisting him as with a shadowy dignity he essays to do the honors of the board. The children prattle merrily: the elder ones talk of the days gone by; and the old man enters feebly, yet with floating glimpses of glee, into the cheer and the rejoicings.
----Poor old man, he is near his tomb! Yet his calm eye, looking upward, seems to show no fear.
The same old man is in his chamber; he cannot leave his chair now. Madge is beside him; Nelly is there too with her eldest-born. Madge has been reading to the old man: it was a passage of promise—of the Bible promise.
"A glorious promise!" says the old man, feebly;—"a promise to me,—a promise to her, poor Madge!"
----"Is her picture there, Maggie?"
Madge brings it to him: he turns his head; but the light is not strong. They wheel his chair to the window. The sun is shining brightly: still the old man cannot see.