She sat with her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes gazing far out over the bayou, while tears coursed freely down her cheeks and her bosom heaved with sobs.
It was her habit to go away and weep in solitude when calmness and cheerfulness seemed no longer within her power.
Presently a light step approached, but she did not hear it, and deemed herself still alone till some one sat down beside her and, passing an arm round her waist, tenderly kissed her forehead.
"Dear child," said her Aunt Elsie's sweet voice, "do not grieve so; think how blest he is—forever freed from all earth's cares and troubles, pains and sicknesses, and forever with the Lord he loved so well."
"Yes; oh, I am glad for him!" she cried; "but how, oh, how shall I ever learn to live without him?"
"By getting nearer to Him who has said, 'I will be a Father of the fatherless: I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.'
"Dear child, Jesus loves you with a purer, deeper, stronger love than any earthly parent can feel for his child.
"And He will never suffer any trial to visit you which shall not be for your good; He will give you strength to bear all that He appoints, and when the work of grace is done will take you to be forever with Himself and the dear ones gone before."
"Yes, Aunt Elsie, thank you; it is very sweet and comforting to know and remember all that.
"And He has given me such a good home with you and uncle; and everybody is so kind to me, I ought to be happy; and I am most of the time, but now and then such a longing for papa comes over me that I am compelled to go away by myself and indulge my grief for a little. Do you think it is wrong to do so?"