He did not leave her again.
Days of suffering came.
But before Easter she had exchanged the little Cottage for the Cathedral. The child had entered in, and was joining in the songs of the Temple, which is the Father's house, wherein are many mansions.
"We have had a saint with us, a saint of God,—and I did not know it!"
But she grew gentler and kinder. The Cottage where the gentle child had lived and died had grown as sacred as the Cathedral, and a hush of reverence was on it which seemed to make harsh words impossible where she had suffered and entered into rest.
Little Mark said, "My friend is gone." But when he said the Our Father she had taught him, he understood a little what a heaven it must be where all the voices were as gentle as Marie's, and all the hearts as true and kind.
The father said nothing, except to God.
"Our Father which art in heaven," he said, "mine and hers, Thou gavest me a saint of Thine to be an angel in my home. I thank Thee I knew it while she was here with me; not first now that she is Inside, at home with Thee."
But a glory came down on his lowly work from her memory, her words, and the sense he had of her immortal life, until he too should be called to the Living Fountains, to hear once more the dear familiar voice, then long at home in the Hallelujahs, but sure never to forget the tones of welcome it had on earth for him.