“I promise,” said Berty, with quivering lips.
“Give my love to Selina and her husband,” Grandma went on, after a short pause. “They are happy together, and they know their duty. They have no need of words from me. And now, Bonny, my own and last grandchild—the baby of the family.”
The boy stretched out his hands. He was younger than the others, and he made no attempt to restrain his sobs.
“Such a dear baby he was,” murmured Grandma, patting his downcast head. “Such a lovely, beautiful baby.”
Margaretta made an effort to control herself, and resolutely wiped away the tears pouring down her face. “Grandma,” she uttered, brokenly, “would you like us to sing to you?”
Grandma slightly turned her head. She seemed to be listening to something beyond them. Then she said, slowly, “My dears, I never fancied going out of this world to the sound of earthly music. There are strange and exquisite harmonies from another world floating in my ears. Hark, children—I hear it now plainly. I am nearing the sea.”
“Grandma, darling,” said Margaretta, in distress, “we are many miles from the sea.”
“It is the sea,” murmured the dying woman, and a triumphant smile broke over her face, “the sea of glass near the great white throne—and there is a new sound now. Ah, children!” and, raising herself on her cushions, a very flame of unearthly and exquisite anticipation swept over her face, “the new sound is from the harps of gold of them that stand beside the sea. They have gotten the victory, and they sing praises!”