“O, Ralph, live; live for me. I have been blind and wayward. O, come back, and we will live for each other.”
“In my father's house are many mansions; I go to prepare a place for you.”
The words sounded far, far away.
“Yes, we will live together above, not here. God has so ordered it, my own Dawn. I shall be light, perhaps, to you, even in that far-off land. Nay, 'tis not 'far'; 't is here. I shall dwell in your heart close-close-closer than ever.”
He closed his eyes and rested for a few moments. Then, arousing, he clasped her hands firmly, as though he would bear her away with him as he took his heavenward flight.
“Look there,” he said, “the river! go close with me-for this is our last moment. Dawn, I am yours; not even death can part us. I am not going; I am coming closer than any earthly relation could bring me to you; coming-call them.”
Parents and sister stood beside the bed with tearful eyes. To them he was going far away.
Dawn saw not the death-dew on the marble brow, nor heeded the passing breath. Another sight was given her, and while they stood so statue-like with anguish, her eyes beheld a soft mist gather like snowflakes on the head; and while the breath grew quick and short, this seemed to pulsate with life, until a face was outlined there. That face the same, yet not the same, but her own dear Ralph's, immortalized, set in a softer, finer light. Her being pulsated with new joy. A tide of life seemed to have flown into her heart, leaving no room for pain.
A moan struck on her ear; so sad that she started, and the vision fled.
“O, Ralph, my own loved boy; he's gone, he's gone,” burst from the mother's sorrowing heart, as they bore her from the room.