All this I saw as in a horrible dream from which I hoped to awake at any moment. But, no!—I soon realized it was all too true. This was the first real grief of my life, and I had to sustain it alone for I had not yet yielded to Him who sends comfort to His children in their time of anguish. He did take pity on me, however. In the next room I hid my grief in Teresa's arms—Teresa, who more than anyone else, knew the love that had united me to Paula.
"Oh, Teresa," I cried, when I found myself alone with her, "she must not die! She must not! I simply cannot live without her, you know that! Oh, pray for me, dear Teresa. God will hear your prayer. He probably wouldn't hear mine. Tell Him! Oh, please tell Him, Paula must not die!"
"No, Lisita," Teresa said as she dried my tears; "We must leave Paula in God's hands. He loves her more than you and I could ever do. If you could see that poor broken body as I've seen it you would not ask that she should live! Yes, indeed, she was happy with us. She was to us all like an angelic messenger sent from God to draw us to Him and to show us the way to heaven. And now He's called her to Himself almost without suffering, for she appears to have become insensible from the instant that the horses struck her down. Listen to me, Lisita! Soon Paula will be in heaven at her Saviour's side—her Saviour whom she loved so well; and in her dear father's company of whom she spoke so often.
"We must think of her happiness, dear Lisita, not our own, from this day forward. Paula, you remember, never thought of herself. Her thought was always for others, and it was for another that she died. She gave her life to save that little boy. So she followed in the footsteps of her Saviour, as a good soldier of the Lord Jesus who died to save all who repent and believe on His blessed name."
The voice of our old servant, so tender, so motherly, seemed to heal my sorrow. When I became calmer she told me some of the details of the tragedy. Paula had, dashed in front of the horses just in time to throw the child out of danger but had been unable to escape herself. That much I understood; but from that day to this, I have never been able to bring myself to ask for any more details. It seems I had fainted, and they carried us both home.
Poor Teresa, I knew how ardently she, too, loved our Paula, but courageous and unselfish her only thought, as ever, was for us. In consoling me she forgot her own sorrow. As I looked at that strong calm face lighted up as from an inner brilliance, it seemed to take on a striking likeness to the dear one whose life was ebbing away in the next room. There came to my mind a verse from a Bible story that Paula had told us once. It was this:
"The spirit of Elijah hath fallen on Elisha."
* * * * *
A stream of neighbors came in from everywhere. It was in those last moments as these humble friends passed before that unconscious form that we came to comprehend how many lives had been touched by the simple country girl from the Waldensian mountains. Some remembered her just from the smile with which she always greeted young and old as she passed up and down the long street at our end of the town. Others spoke of the loving adoration of the children whom she had protected and defended. Still others mentioned the kindness she had shown them, and poured out many stories of Paula's universal love for all—of her visits to the poor and sick, and of how she had pointed them to the Saviour who had died to take away their sin; bringing joy and hope and liberty into many a home where only discord and misery had reigned before.
So the tears of many of our humble, friendless neighbors mingled with our own as we waited for the end.