Ellen put her hand to her face; she thought her heart would break. He gently drew her to a seat on the stone beside him, and still keeping his arm round her, slowly and soothingly went on
"Think that she is happy; think that she is safe; think that she is with that blessed One whose face we seek at a distance satisfied with His likeness instead of wearily struggling with sin; think that sweetly and easily she has got home; and it is our home, too. We must weep, because we are left alone; but for her 'I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord!' "
As he spoke in low and sweet tones, Ellen's tears calmed and stopped; but she still kept her hands to her face.
"Shall we go home, Ellie?" said her brother, after another silence. She rose up instantly, and said, "Yes." But he held her still, and looking for a moment at the tokens of watching and grief and care in her countenance, he gently kissed the pale little face, adding a word of endearment, which almost broke Ellen's heart again. Then taking her hand, they went down the mountain together.
CHAPTER XLIII.
Those that were left.
The whole Marshman family arrived to-day from Ventnor; some to see Alice's loved remains, and all to follow them to the grave. The parsonage could not hold so many; the two Mr. Marshmans, therefore, with Major and Mrs. Gillespie, made their quarters at Thirlwall. Margery's hands were full enough with those that were left.
In the afternoon, however, she found time for a visit to the room the room. She was standing at the foot of the bed, gazing on the sweet face she loved so dearly, when Mrs. Chauncey and Mrs. Vawse came up for the same purpose. All three stood some time in silence.
The bed was strewn with flowers, somewhat singularly disposed. Upon the pillow, and upon and about the hands, which were on the breast, were scattered some of the rich late roses roses and rose-buds, strewn with beautiful and profuse carelessness. A single stem of white lilies lay on the side of the bed; the rest of the flowers, a large quantity, covered the feet, seeming to have been flung there without any attempt at arrangement. They were of various kinds, chosen, however, with exquisite taste and feeling. Besides the roses, there were none that were not either white or distinguished for their fragrance. The delicate white verbena, the pure feverfew, mignonette, sweet geranium, white myrtle, the rich-scented heliotrope, were mingled with the late-blossoming damask and purple roses; no yellow flowers, no purple, except those mentioned; even the flaunting petunia, though white, had been left out by the nice hand that had culled them. But the arranging of these beauties seemed to have been little more than attempted; though indeed it might be questioned whether the finest heart could have bettered the effect of what the overtasked hand of affection had left half done. Mrs. Chauncey, however, after a while, began slowly to take a flower or two from the foot, and place them on other parts of the bed.
"Will Mrs. Chauncey pardon my being so bold," said Margery then, who had looked on with no pleasure while this was doing, "but if she had seen when those flowers had been put there, it wouldn't be her wish, I am sure it wouldn't be her wish, to stir one of them."