“No, no, but you are not ready just this moment. You must have something to strengthen you first. If you won’t wait for tea, here is some wine. Drink a glass, dear, do. To please me!”
Sylvia stared at her fixedly, and from her to that other figure which stood motionless by the window without so much as a glance for his friend’s child. A cold fear seized her in its grip, the room swam before her eyes, and out of the confusion she heard a weak voice saying brokenly, “Tell me quickly, please! It won’t help me to drink wine. Father—”
Mrs Nisbet burst into a passion of tears, and clasped the girl tightly in her arms.
“You are too late, dear. An hour too late! We did everything we could. He left you his last love and blessing.”
It was all over. The two long days of waiting, the last glimpse of dad’s still face, the funeral in the foreign cemetery, and Sylvia sat alone in the hotel sitting-room, striving to recover sufficiently from the shock to decide on the next step which lay before her.
In the crushing weight of the new sorrow it seemed as if it were impossible to go on living at all, yet it was absolutely necessary to make her plans, for she could not be an indefinite burden on her father’s friends. They had come home to enjoy a hard-earned rest, and as the holiday had begun so sadly there was all the more reason why the remainder should be passed under cheerful conditions. Mr and Mrs Nisbet had pressed the girl to spend the next few months travelling in their company, but Sylvia was resolute in her refusal.
“I should be a constant care to you, and a constant kill-joy, and that would be a poor return for all you have done for me,” she said sadly. “It will comfort me all my life to remember that you were with dad during those last dreadful days, and some day I should like very much to visit you when I can be a pleasure instead of a burden. It does not seem now as if I could ever be happy again, but I suppose it will come in time.”
“It will, if you trust in God and ask Him to help you. He sends troubles to teach us lessons, dear, and to draw our thoughts to Him, but never, never to make us miserable,” said Mrs Nisbet softly. “You did not feel that you had lost your father when he was far-off in India, and he is a great deal nearer to you now in the spirit world. Never think of him as in the grave, think of him in heaven, and it will grow dear and home-like to you just because he is there. It would have grieved him to the heart to see your young life clouded, so you must try to be happy for his sake. I don’t mean by that that you can be lively, or care for the old amusements; that can only come with time; but unhappiness comes from rebellion against God’s will, and if you submit to that and leave your life in His hands, you will find that all the sting has gone out of your trouble.”
The slow tears rose and stood in Sylvia’s eyes.