“It is Timothy Bent, mamma,” said Violet, as her mother came in. “He is dead.”
“Is he gone?” said her mother, sitting down. “Did he suffer much? Were you with him at the last?”
“Yes, he suffered,” said Mr Inglis, a momentary look of pain passing over his face. “But that is all past now forever.”
“Did he know you?”
“Yes, he knew me. He spoke of the time when I took him up at the corner, and brought him home to you. He said that was the beginning.”
There was a pause.
“The beginning of what?” whispered Frank to Violet.
“The beginning of a new life to poor Tim,” said Violet.
“The beginning of the glory revealed to him to-day,” said Mr Inglis. “It is wonderful! I cannot tell you how wonderful it seemed to me to-night to see him as he looked on the face of death. We speak about needing faith in walking through dark places, but we need it more to help us to bear the light that shines on the death-bed of a saved and sanctified sinner. How glorious! How wonderful! For a moment it seemed to me beyond belief. Now with us in that poor room, sick and suffering, and sometimes afraid, even; then, in the twinkling of an eye, in the very presence of his Lord—and like him—with joy unspeakable and full of glory! Does it not seem almost past belief? ‘Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!’”
There was silence for a good while after that, and then David first, and afterwards the others, answered the mother’s look by rising and saying softly, “Good-night,” and then they went away.