"The heavier the cross," he would say, "the brighter the crown. The more meekly it is borne, the sweeter will be the rest at the end of the journey."
Then he would join his fine mellow voice with Dorothy in singing the beautiful, though now forgotten, verse in the evening hymn: "For death is life, and labour rest." Even the blunt farmer's hard nature was softened by his touching prayers.
Mr. Fitzmorris did not exactly approve of Gilbert's loss being kept a profound secret from his mother.
"I hate all concealment," he cried. "The simple truth is always the best. You had better let me break it to her, than run the risk of her hearing it accidentally from another. The shock of seeing him with the empty sleeve, would give her more pain than if you were to make her acquainted with the facts."
Still, neither Dorothy nor Mr. Rushmere could be persuaded to follow his advice.
A very few days had elapsed before Dorothy deeply repented not adopting his judicious advice.
Though her disease was rapidly progressing, and Mrs. Rushmere was becoming daily weaker, she was still able to occupy the room below, propped up by pillows in her easy chair. The sight of all the household arrangements, and the inmates going to and fro, amused her, and often made her forgetful of the pain she was suffering.
One morning while Dorothy was absent in the outer kitchen, preparing some broth, Miss Watling, who had learned the extent of Gilbert's injuries, called upon Mrs. Rushmere to condole with her on the event, and pick up any bit of gossip she could with regard to Dorothy.
"Ah, my dear Mrs. Rushmere!" she cried, hurrying up to the easy chair, in which the old lady was reclining half asleep. "I am so sorry to find you sick and confined to the house. But you must not fret about Gilbert, indeed you must not. Directly I was told the dreadful news, I said to Mrs. Barford, 'Lord a' mercy, it will kill his poor mother.'"
"What about Gilbert! What dreadful news?" cried Mrs. Rushmere, starting from her half conscious state, and grasping the thin bony arm of her visitor with convulsive energy.