Something glistened in the light, and Christie received into her hand a locket, hung by a black ribbon. Upon being opened, there was a face—a lovely child’s face—“little Harry!”
Yes, it was little Harry’s face, copied from a miniature taken about the time when she first saw him. On the other side, encircled by a ring of the baby’s golden hair, was written, in fair characters, by the mother’s hand:
“To Christie. From the children.”
“And now, Christie,” said Mrs Lee, when the tears that would come at the sight of the picture had been wiped away, “our good-bye to-morrow must be a brief and quiet one. To-night I must say, ‘God bless you.’ Don’t let the world spoil you as you grow older. You won’t, I know. You have a talisman against its power. May God make you a blessing to many, as He has made you a blessing to me! Good-bye, my dear child. If we never meet on earth, I humbly hope we may meet in heaven!”
It was not like a parting between mistress and maid. Mrs Lee kissed her earnestly, while her tears fell on her face, and when Christie said “Good-bye,” she clung to her as she had not clung even to Effie. It was like the farewell of sisters who know that they must meet death before they look on each other’s faces again.
Not one of the many grateful thoughts which filled Christie’s heart had she the power to utter. But they were not needed. After so many months of loving service—after so many nights of anxious watching, shared so gladly for the love she bore to her and her little ones—words could have been of little value.
The “good-bye” in the morning was brief and quiet, as Mrs Lee had wished—so brief that not till the carriage that took them away had disappeared, did Christie realise that they were gone; and the walls of the deserted nursery echoed to many a bitter sob ere she bade farewell to the place where she had passed so many changeful hours.