"Death is another life."
—Bailey.
"Oh Elsie, Elsie, what shall we do! But it can't, it can't be true!" sobbed Violet, clinging to her sister in a heart-breaking paroxysm of grief. "Oh it will kill mamma, and we shall lose her too!"
"No, no, honey, not so," said Aunt Chloe; "my bressed young missus will lib for yo' sake, for her chillens' sake. An' you ain't gwine to lose massa: he's only gwine home a little while 'fore de rest."
"Dear Vi, we must try to be composed for both their sakes," whispered Elsie, scarcely able to speak for weeping.
"Dear bressed Lord help dem, help dese po' chillens," ejaculated Aunt Chloe. "Come, chillens, we's losin' precious time."
They wiped away their tears, checked their sobs by a determined effort, and hand in hand followed her to the sick-room.
Perfect ease had taken the place of the agonizing pain which for many hours had racked Mr. Travilla's frame, but it was the relief afforded not by returning health, but by approaching dissolution; death's seal was on his brow; even his children could read it as they gathered, weeping, about his bed.
He had a few words of fatherly counsel, of tender, loving farewell for each—Elsie, Violet, Edward:—to the last saying, "My son, I commit your mother to your tender care. You have almost reached man's estate; take your father's place, and let her lean on your young, vigorous arm; yet fail not in filial reverence and obedience; be ever ready to yield to her wise, gentle guidance."
"I will, father, I will," returned the lad in a choking voice.