Rose found the place at once, for she knew it was close to the Marriage Service, and began:
"'I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.'"
There she stopped, for the tears were falling, and she could not see the page; and, just then, Miss de Beaufoy came into the room, and saw what Rose was reading. For the first time, in our hearing, she interfered, beseeching Adeline to remember she was a Roman Catholic, and recommending that a priest should be sent for.
"Dear Aunt Agnes," exclaimed Adeline, impressively, "when you shall be as near to death as I am, you will see the fallacy of these earthly differences,--how worse than useless they must appear in the sight of our universal Father, of our loving Saviour. There is but one heaven, and I believe it is of little moment which form of worship we pursue, so that we pray and strive earnestly in it to arrive there. I shall be none the worse for listening to the prayers from this English book: they are all truth and beauty, and they soothe me. The priests will come later."
A bold avowal for a Roman Catholic, and Agnes de Beaufoy crossed herself as she left the room. Rose read the Burial Service to the end.
And so, existence hanging as it were upon a thread, the days still struggle on.
There will be no more extracts from this young lady's diary. And indeed but little more of anything; this portion of the history, like Adeline's life, draws near its close.
[CHAPTER XXIX.]
LOUISE'S WHISPERED WORDS.
You ould see at a first glance that it was only a temporary bed-chamber--a drawing-room converted into one, to serve some special occasion. Its carpet was of unusual richness; its chairs and sofa, handsomely carved, were covered with embossed purple velvet; its window-curtains, of white flowered muslin, were surmounted by purple velvet and glittering yellow cornices; and fine paintings adorned the walls. The bed alone seemed out of place. It was of plain mahogany, a French bed, without curtains, and was placed in the corner which made the angle between the two doors, one of which opened on the corridor, the other on the adjoining room, a large, magnificent drawing-room, furnished en suite with the one in which the bed was.