”O mother, do not say so,” I sobbed, as I kissed her pale, emaciated cheek; ”God is too good to take you away from us.”
”He knows best, my son. His will be done! But I have not strength to say much, and even now I feel the cloud coming. Will you make me two promises? I want you to bring your father’s remains from Elmira, and bury them with me under the old cedar at home; ‘twas there I promised to be his bride in the long ago. And, John, something tells me that you had another motive, besides seeing me, in coming hither. Do you not seek Frank Paning’s life?”
My face flushed hotly as the thought that she might ask me to forgive Frank flashed upon me, and I felt that even her last request could not persuade me to forego my vengeance. But I answered quickly:
”No, mother, as Heaven is my witness, I only thought of you and Carlotta when I came here; but if Providence should throw the viper in my path, even you would have me crush him.”
”No, John, the dear Saviour prayed for those who nailed him to the cross, and bids us forgive as we would be forgiven.”
”But, mother,” I argued—though Carlotta shook her head at me and whispered, ”do as she requests”—”Frank is so vile. He has partaken of our hospitality, and I have been his friend a thousand times, yet he has burnt our home, insulted Carlotta and murdered you; how can I ever forgive him?”
”You are full of wrath and hatred now, my son, and I cannot hope to change your feeling yet awhile; but I can ask, as my last request, your promise that you will not seek Frank’s life—that if you ever meet you will forgive him for my sake. Do you promise?”
I did not speak, for the hot blood that had written my oath of vengeance on my heart was still throbbing there, and I could not at a word forget my cruel wrongs. While I hesitated the cloud came over her, and her countenance again was vacant and meaningless, and she began to murmur broken sentences about the Cross, and Christ’s love, and her child’s hard heart.
Then there came the heartrending thought that she might not again become conscious, and might die with my obstinate refusal weighing on her poor broken heart.
”Oh, merciful God! what is my unholy resentment compared with the peace of my mother’s death bed?” I exclaimed, with unfeigned penitence, as I implored Carlotta to rouse her once more to consciousness.