But Fly, in her astonishment and consternation, was incapable of speech; and smiling at her stunned look, Georgia swept past and entered the "best room."
There it was, still unchanged, and there, in her rocking-chair in the chimney-corner, knitting away, sat Miss Jerusha, unchanged, too. Old Father Time seemed to have no power over her iron frame. She did not hear Georgia's noiseless entrance, and it was only when a bright vision in glittering robes of silk and velvet, with dark tearful eyes and sadly smiling lips, knelt at her feet, and two white youthful arms, with gold bracelets flashing thereon, encircled her waist, and a sweet, vibrating voice softly murmured, "Dear, dear, Miss Jerusha," that she looked up.
Looked up, with a wild cry, and half arose, then fell back in her seat, and flinging her arms round her neck, fell on her shoulder with one loud passionate cry of "Georgia! Georgia!"
CHAPTER XXVI.
"LAST SCENE OF ALL."
"I have seen one whose eloquence commanding,
Roused the rich echoes of the human breast;
The blandishments of wealth and ease withstanding,
That hope might reach the suffering and oppressed.
"And by his side there moved a form of beauty,
Strewing sweet flowers along his path of life,
And looking up with meek and love-bent duty—
I called her angel, but he called her wife."
Anon.
