Then she had heard and understood. And as, my head on her shoulder, I expressed my sorrow at leaving her in her trouble, she comforted me.
“Listen; we must not be sad.”
Was it she who spoke thus? I raised my head in surprise and looked at her; her face, ravaged by trials, chiselled by the sorrow of the most ardent love, was almost colourless. All its expression centred in her eyes, so gentle, so pure, so limpid. She was changed and aged. And yet there was in her an indescribable firmness which she imparted to all around her, no one knew how.
“Don’t be surprised,” she said. “That first night I was so overwhelmed with despair that I prayed God to take me. I cried unto Him and He heard me. He sustained me, but in another way. I had not believed enough. Now I believe as we ought to believe. We are not parted, don’t you see?—We are going forward to meet again.”
A Book of Hours was lying on the work table beside her. I mechanically took it up. It opened of itself to a page which she must have read often.
“Read it aloud,” she said.
It was the prayer of the dying, to be recited during the approach of death:
“Leave this world, Christian soul, in the name of God the Father Almighty who created thee; in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the living God who suffered for thee; in the name of Angels and Archangels, of Thrones and Dominations; in the name of Principalities and Powers, of Cherubim and Seraphim; in the name of the Patriarchs and Prophets, and of the Holy Apostles and Evangelists; in the name of the Holy Martyrs and Confessors, in the name of the holy Monks and Solitaries, in the name of the holy Virgins, and of all the Saints of God. May thy dwelling be this day in peace and thy habitation in the Holy Places! ...”
All heaven assembled to receive the Soul to whom the portals of Life were opened.
We are not parted; we are going forward to meet again; I understood the meaning of her words.