"I have just been speaking of Mrs. Herbert," said Mrs. Melville, addressing herself to Mr. Wallace, "and though it has been fifteen years since we met, there are few of whom I retain a more admiring and pleasant remembrance. I was indeed grieved when I heard of Mr. Herbert's death."
"It was a terrible blow," said Mr. Wallace, "the more terrible from being so sudden; but Mrs. Herbert is a mourner from a yet more recent affliction—the death of her eldest child and only daughter."
"Indeed! such repeated and heavy strokes—how has she borne up under them?"
"As one who, though a devoted wife and mother, is likewise a devoted Christian. The strokes have been indeed as you say, heavy, but she has bowed to them, and kissed the rod which she knew was in a Father's hand. You who remember her, madam, will not be surprised to learn that no selfish sorrow has made her forgetful of her remaining duties."
"She has yet two children, I believe," said Mrs. Melville.
"Yes—two fine boys, whose education is scarcely commenced yet, as the eldest is but thirteen years old. Her orphan and destitute nieces, too, who, I understood, were with you this afternoon, she feels to have strong claims upon her, almost as strong as those of her own children. To these claims she had not hitherto been able to attend, for she had scarce recovered from the first bewildering effect of her husband's death, when the symptoms which had already alarmed her in her daughter's health, deepened into decided consumption, and her whole time was necessarily given to her till death released her from her cares."
"And will she now be able to give a home to these poor girls?"
"Only to one of them," said Mr. Melville,—"to Ellen."
"And separate them!" exclaimed Mrs. Melville; "that will never do."
"So Mrs. Herbert thought at first," said Mr. Wallace, smiling, "but she has been in correspondence with Mr. Villars on the subject, and she has yielded to his arguments, on the one condition, that the children themselves consent to the arrangement."