She has a great duty to perform, and perform it she will; for she has learnt that the cross which saves us in eternity must be taken up on earth; and that without sacrifice there is no peace for the soul.
She has called Edward to her side; she has mentally prayed that strength may be given her for the trial at hand; she has said to herself, "The scene, his tears, his passion, his soul will too deeply move;" and she has charged him, with solemn earnestness, to leave her for some hours to herself, and then to return and bless the remaining days of that life he cannot save.
She remained alone; and deep and intense were the prayers she poured forth, as she waited for those she had sent for; those whom she had summoned around her in that solemn hour.
She had never looked so beautiful in her days of pride and health, as now, on her bed of sickness and sorrow, of penitence and peace. Yea, of peace; for, although the approaching hour was one of pain and trial; ay, and of shame too, yet her way was clear before her, and she turned not now her head aside from the cup of sorrow and of humiliation, but steadily prepared to drink it to the dregs.
When she saw Mrs. Middleton, the mother of her childhood, the friend of her youth; the friend who had lately sought her with a message of peace, when she had forsaken, and been forsaken by all the world, when she remembered what she had to tell her, her soul well-nigh fainted within her; but she held out her hand in silence, and prayed more earnestly.
When Alice, the widowed, the childless Alice, entered the room; when their eyes met, she opened her arms. Oh, what depths of mysterious feeling, of unutterable memories, of silent aspirations, were crowded in that embrace. O language, where is your strength? O words, your power, compared with the mute communion of such an hour?
But all are not assembled yet; and Ellen's eyes are fixed on the door with earnest expectation; and when it opened, and she saw Mr. Lacy, her guide, her friend; he who by his sacred ministry had prepared her for death, she turned paler than before, for he was not alone—an aged woman followed him, and gazed upon her with a strange and bewildered expression. There was a moment's deep silence, and then Ellen, turning successively to each of them, addressed them thus:—
"You who have been to me all tenderness—you who have been to me just and merciful, with a justice and a mercy more than human; you whom God made His instrument to bring me through much sorrow unto repentance; and you through whose means He brought me back to Himself, listen to me, and hearken to my dying words. Mrs. Middleton, you had a child, and you lost her; my hand, unwittingly, unknowingly (so help me God! as I speak the truth)—my hand was the instrument of her death; it was lifted up in anger but not in malice, and that anger has been visited upon me by a fearful punishment, which, like the mark which was set on Cain's brow, has followed me all my days since, and has brought me to an early grave. Can you forgive me? Oh yes, by that hand which I grasp—by these tears which fall on my brow, and which wash away that fiery mark which has branded it so long, you do forgive me—you say of me what our Saviour said of his murderers, 'God forgive her, she knew not what she did.' And now," she continued after a pause, during which there was no sound in that room but stifled sobs, "and now let me take a solemn leave of you all; let me ask for your prayers, for my end is at hand."
Mrs. Tracy knelt by Ellen's bed-side, and said, in hardly articulate tones, "Pray for us when you are in Heaven."
"God bless you," answered Ellen, faintly, and closed her eyes. After an instant she opened them again, and turning to Mr. Lacy, she said, in a voice of the deepest emotion, "Oh, Mr. Lacy, is it not merciful that death has been so sent to me as to allow me time to rise up on my knees, and to cry, 'Lord have mercy upon me?'" She was seized with a sudden faintness, and sunk back on the bed exhausted.