She put aside her veil that he might see her face and know that she was in earnest. The bearers, waiting to perform their final service for John Bradley, looked at her in amazement. Others stared and wondered. Stephen Lamar, standing at the side of the grave, scowled in open disapproval.
Was she, after all, to belie his eloquent defense of a churchless funeral, yield to unreasoning custom, and have a preacher commit her husband’s body to the earth? It was unbelievable.
“I have changed my mind,” she said to the minister. “I wish you to speak at this burial, not as a preacher, but as a friend of John Bradley’s and mine. I don’t want anything said that’s religious; just something that’s comforting, that I can take home with me.”
It was a strange request. How could a minister of the Church, with the inheritance of nineteen centuries upon him, stand by an open grave and commit the body of a human being to its shelter, and avoid all reference to that which alone had power to rob death of its sting and the grave of its victory? But the rector of Christ Church was quick in emergencies. He did not hesitate now, in either thought or deed. He directed the bearers to proceed with their task, and, as the coffin descended, he gathered up a handful of fresh earth from the mound at his side and scattered it into the open pit.
“Earth to earth—ashes to ashes—dust to dust.”
As the last word left his lips the coffin found its resting place on the bed of the grave. He held up his hand while the people around him stood awed and expectant. His voice was clear and resonant as he spoke:
“In that day when the earth shall give up its dead, and when the spirits of those that were in prison shall be free, may we know that the unfettered soul of this our brother has attained the fulfilment of the joys that were denied him here, but which, through all the ages, have awaited his coming into that sweet and blessed country where labor and patience and a conscience void of offense shall have their just and reasonable reward. Amen!”
He stepped aside, the lowering straps were pulled harshly up, and the first spadeful of earth fell, with that hollow and gruesome sound which is like none other, on the narrow house in which the body of John Bradley lay.
Up to this moment, whatever her sorrow at her husband’s death may have been, no one had seen Mary Bradley weep. But she was weeping now. Something in the preacher’s words, or in his voice or manner, had touched the well-spring of her emotion, and had brought to her eyes tears which she made no effort to restrain.