“Oh, yes—yes, I will, indeed! I will never say another word about him. If I do, stop me—don’t let me, please, Magnus. I don’t wish to do wrong; but, oh, Magnus, is it not enough to try one’s faith—to kill one’s faith—when one so good as my mother is permitted to suffer and to die?” exclaimed Elsie, giving way to another extravagant burst of sorrow.
Magnus knelt by her side, and took her hands, and stroked her hair, and wiped her tears, until the fresh gush of grief had spent itself, and then he said:
“Dear Elsie, it is the great strengthener and supporter of faith—the sufferings and premature death of the good. It makes immortality, heaven, certain, because necessary; and necessary, because just. Dear Elsie, what is the life and death of Christ intended to teach? What is the resurrection and ascension intended to insure?”
“I know—oh, I know she is an angel in heaven; but heaven itself needs ‘familiarizing’ to our feelings, before it can console us for the lost—much.”
At this moment the barkeeper came in, and said that the carryall was ready. Dr. Hardcastle re-arranged the cloak around his almost helpless companion, tied her hood, and leading her out, fixed her in the back of the carryall.
Three o’clock came, and they had still fifteen miles to go. The mules went in a fast trot. Four o’clock came, and ten miles lay before them. Five o’clock came; it was nearly dark, and they were still several miles from town. At length, at a little before six, when it was quite dark and piercing cold, they entered Huttontown.
Elsie had long in silence given up the hope of getting even to the church in time for the funeral service there; and now she whispered, in a low, solemn, sorrow-fraught tone:
“Drive to the church—to the house of the sexton. We must see her again, if only in the vault.”
“It will be too much for you, oh, my Elsie!”
“No, no; I entreat, I implore you, take me to the vault.”