The roving eyes thanked the good woman for her interpretation of their language.
“No, no; it was wrong to leave her. She’ll die, and leave me—I know she will.”
“Hush, Becky,” said Aunt Hulda. “The doctor said she’d rally. Great care is necessary. Another shock would be fatal.”
Thus admonished, Becky grew very quiet, but knelt at the side of the bed, with her eyes fastened upon her mother’s. Mrs. Thompson tried to take her from the room, but she waved her off. Notwithstanding the doctor’s whispered hope, dread forebodings filled the hearts of all the watchers of that pale face, with its gleaming eyes. For an hour that room was as quiet as if beneath a spell. No one there could be of the least assistance; yet not one departed. So quiet, that the far-off noise of wheels at that late hour startled them; and a sudden light dilated the watchful eyes upon the bed. They fastened upon the door, full of expectancy and hope.
The wheels drew nearer, nearer yet; they stopped before the house. A moment after there came a hurried tread; the door was thrown open, and in the room stood the long-expected husband,—Cyrus Sleeper.
“Delia, wife! home, home at last!”
Those wishful eyes fastened upon his face an instant, gleamed brighter still, and then closed—closed forever. Their work was done.
Faithful eyes; let them be covered. They have watched and waited for the ship; it has come, freighted with treasure; but not to enrich that loving heart. The ship has come, to meet another leaving an earthly port—God’s invisible bark, bearing one more purified soul out into the sea of eternity, unto the haven of heavenly bliss. Speedy shall be thy voyage, gentle mother. Behind thee are tears and lamentations, and the memory of thy patient endurance of adversity’s long trial; before thee lies the new life. Freed from earthly bonds, eager to do thy Maker’s work in the great hereafter, loving spirits, with glad hosannas, shall welcome thy coming to the port of peace.