I sat down by the bedside. The mother could not weep, but now and then sighed deeply, as she alternately looked at Elizabeth and at me. The big tear rolled down the brother’s cheek, and testified an affectionate regard. The good old man stood at the foot of the bed, leaning upon the post, and unable to take his eyes off the child from whom he was so soon to part.
Elizabeth’s eyes were closed, and as yet she perceived me not. But over her face, though pale, sunk, and hollow, the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, had cast a triumphant calm.
The soldier, after a short pause, silently reached out his Bible towards me, pointing with his finger at 1 Cor. xv. 55, 56, 57. I then broke silence by reading the passage, “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
At the sound of these words her eyes opened, and something like a ray of divine light beamed on her countenance as she said, “Victory! victory! through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
She relapsed again, taking no further notice of any one present.
“God be praised for the triumph of faith!” said I.
“Amen!” replied the soldier.
The Dairyman’s uplifted eye showed that the Amen was in his heart, though his tongue failed to utter it.
A short struggling for breath took place in the dying young woman, which was soon over; and then I said to her,—
“My dear friend, do you not feel that you are supported?”