“Now I do wonder how the other one will act when she comes ’round,” thought Watson.
Mary Genung was severely shocked and the united efforts of Watson and Eletheer only succeeded in bringing a moan of pain from her lips as she shivered and relapsed into unconsciousness.
The wind was abating now and Watson asked Eletheer if she would be afraid to be left alone while he went for help.
“Of what!” she said. “Please go. You’ll find willing hands at the paper-mill yonder.”
Before the sentence was finished he was off and as the distance was not great, he soon returned with three strong men carrying an improvised stretcher. Mary still remained unconscious; and tenderly lifting her and placing her beside Elisha’s still form on the stretcher, the two were carried to the paper-mill and from there a conveyance took them to Mr. De Vere’s.
Dr. Brinton was there when they arrived. He and Reuben placed Elisha on the bed in his old room. No need for a lengthy examination. A mark over the heart about the size of a nickel showed where the current had entered his body. His thread of continuity between now and hereafter had served its purpose.
Leaving to Reuben the task of doing all for Elisha’s remains, Dr. Brinton went below to the library where the family, with Mr. Genung, had assembled.
Mary would probably be all right in a few days as consciousness had already returned. Dr. Brinton said all she needed was good care.
No one dared ask after Elisha as Watson’s description left no chance for hope, and Dr. Brinton’s manner confirmed this as he entered the room. Once again had nature donned her brightest robes and from the west came streaks of golden light. Mr. De Vere advanced to meet the doctor and, laying a trembling hand on his arm, said,—“We know it, Doctor, and we also know that God is good.”
“In mercy truly has this been done,” Dr. Brinton replied, “the transition was painless—instantaneous!” But the man, not the physician, was talking now. No professional sympathy in the tones of one whose heart was bleeding. Elisha himself only guessed at the depth of the love that this good man had for him. When he concluded, there was not a dry eye in the room; even Watson sobbed audibly, and Margaret stole quietly upstairs to Celeste, her “baby,” who lay as one dead.