She had unconsciously spoken aloud. A soft sweet voice echoed the last word.
"Alone! ah, my darling, no! not while your mother lives. You and I must cling the closer together, Vi dearest," the voice went on, while two loving arms enfolded her and a gentle kiss was imprinted upon cheek and brow.
"Dearest mamma!" cried Violet, returning the caress, "forgive me that I should indulge in such grief while you are left me—you and your dear love, the greatest of earthly treasures."
"Yes, dear child, your grief is very natural. These changes, though not unmixed calamities, are one of the hard conditions of life in this lower world, dear daughter; but we must not let them mar our peace and happiness; let us rejoice over the blessings that are left, rather than weep for those that are gone."
"I will, mamma," Violet said, wiping away her tears. "Ah, how much I still have to rejoice in and be thankful for!"
"Yes, dear, we both have! and not the least the love of Him who has said, 'Lo, I am with you alway.' Oh the joy, the bliss of knowing that nothing can ever part us from Him! And then to know, too, that some day we shall all be together in His immediate presence, beholding His face and bearing His image!"
Neither spoke again for some moments, then the mother said, "Vi, dearest, there is nothing more conducive to cheerfulness at such a time as this than being fully employed. So I ask you to take charge of Rosie and Walter for a few hours. They are not yet well enough for tasks or for out door sports, but need to be amused. And your grandpa and grandma want me to drive with them to the Laurels and Roselands."
"Yes, do go, mamma, and try to enjoy yourself. You have seen so little of Aunt Adelaide since she came, or of Aunt Rosie, since the sickness began with her children and ours. Thank you for your trust, I shall do my best," Violet said with cheerful alacrity. "Ah, the recovery of the darlings is one of the many mercies we have to be thankful for!"
"Yes, Vi, and my heart is full of joy and gratitude to the Great Physician."
At Roselands Mrs. Conly still lay helpless on her couch, her condition having changed very slightly for the better; she could now at times, with great effort, speak a word or two, but friends and physicians had scarcely a hope of any further improvement; she might live on thus for years, or another stroke might at any moment bring the end.