"Precious babe," faltered the clergyman, bending over her. "We cannot mourn for you, who will so soon be free from pain and sorrow. No, sweet and unwearied as your mother's care has been, the tender love of your Saviour, who shed his blood for you, will be more sweet, more unwearied; but babes are God's precious gifts, and it is hard to part with them."
"God will give strength to bear the chastisement he sends," faltered Gerty, without raising her eyes from the infant's face. "He knows how I love her, and he would not take her away unless he saw it was best."
"'A bruised reed shall he not break,'" repeated the clergyman.
"It is sweet to feel that he does not take her from me in anger," was the faint rejoinder.
"God chastens those whom he loves, my child, for their own growth in every Christian grace. By this affliction he intends to bring you nearer to himself."
"He has already done so," she added, her whole face beaming. "I never felt so sure that he has forgiven my self-will; my disregard of all authority; my many sins against his long-suffering kindness, until I have sat here day after day and watched my little Rose, growing to be an angel, as Bridget says. I could never have borne it without his help. You have lost three babies Dr. Gilbert, and you know how easy it would be for me to give up every comfort I have in the world if I might keep her; but by his help I can say, 'She is thine dear Father, thine for life or death.'"
Dr. Gilbert kneeled to offer up a petition for continued support to the mother, and prayed that the suffering so meekly endured by the little one, might be blessed to her infantile advancement in divine grace; and then went home to tell his wife that her fears for their young friend were needless; that he had learned a lesson from her which he hoped never to forget.
He had scarcely concluded his relation of Gerty's faith in God's love; and her sweet submission to his will, though it was to take from her the dearest object she had in life, when a hurried ring announced the family physician.
"I have just come," he exclaimed, with a suspicious moisture in his eye, "from the house of Mr. Dudley. Will you, Mrs. Gilbert, be a mother to that poor child in her sorrow. Her babe is dying and Bridget is wailing over it in frantic grief. I shall ride to Mr. Dudley's office on my way back, and send him home. Nothing but the recollection of her mute sorrow keeps me from calling him some hard names."
"Come, mother," said Marion tearfully, "let's go at once."