“Go right to bed, dear, then you can really rest.”
The doctor, too tired to offer any resistance, rose and went to the bedroom. In a few minutes his wife heard regular sonorous sounds from the bed. (When she spoke of these sounds to John, Mary pronounced it without the first o.)
Glad that he had so soon fallen into deep sleep she settled back in her chair. “I'll protect him tonight,” she thought, “though fiery darts be hurled.”
She thought of many things. The fire-light gleamed red upon the hearth. All was still. The sounds from the adjoining room had ceased. Something stirred within her and she rose and went softly to the bedside of her sleeping husband. In the half-light she could see the strong, good face. Dear John so profane yet so patient, so severe yet so tender, what would it be to face life without him. She laid her hand very lightly on the hand which lay on the counterpane, then took it away lest it disturb the sleeper. She went back to her chair and opening a little volume took from it a folded sheet. Twice before today had she read the words written within it. A dear friend whose husband had recently died had written her, inclosing them. She read them again now:
IN MEMORIAM,—A PRAYER.
“O God! The Father of the spirits of all flesh, in whatsoever world or condition they be,—I beseech Thee for him whose name, and dwelling place, and every need Thou knowest. Lord, vouchsafe him peace and light, rest and refreshment, joy and consolation in Paradise, in the ample folds of Thy great love. Grant that his life, so troubled here, may unfold itself in Thy sight, and find employment in the spacious fields of Eternity.—If he hath ever been hurt or maimed by any unhappy word or deed of mine, I pray Thee, of Thy great pity, to heal and restore him, that he may serve Thee without hindrance.
“Tell him, O gracious Father, if it may be,—how much I love him and miss him, and long to see him again; and if there may be ways in which he may come, vouchsafe him to me as guide and guard, and grant me such sense of his nearness as Thy laws permit. If in aught I can minister to his peace, be pleased of Thy love to let this be; and mercifully keep me from every act which may deprive me of the sight of him, as soon as our trial time is over, or mar the fullness of our joy when the end of the days hath come.”
Mary brushed away a tear from her cheek. “This letter has awakened unusual thoughts. I will—”
A sharp peal from the telephone.
“What is it?”
“Is the doctor at home?”
“Yes. He has gone to bed and is fast asleep.”