He sighed; the elder brother sighed more deeply; both were silent; the fire-light leaped up, lighting the room—a fierce, avenging blaze; then died out, and all was gloom. Where were the thoughts of that elder brother? They were wandering among the graves of the past. In his imagination, new ones were there; the names on the tomb-stones were familiar; the thirteen were all there; twelve sleeping; his the only restless, wandering spirit. Fannie stood before him, her face pale and tearful. She pointed to the graves, and said, sadly, "This is the end of all earthly things." That night he knocked at the door of his sister's mansion but gained no admittance.
PART III
The anniversary of Fannie's bridal was the counterpart of the original. Sunny and genial, with here and there a white cloud floating near the horizon, denoting a long and happy married life, with but threatening troubles. How was the prophecy realized? Like all riddles of earthly solution, to the contrary?
The eight brothers, with faces of stern grief in the same old corner, side by side; the five sisters sobbing, tearful and quite overwhelmed with sorrow, sat opposite, Their eyes were fixed upon the same pair. Harwood knelt beside a couch in the middle of the room, and there lay Fannie; but how changed! They had all been summoned there, to see that new sister depart for another world; to see the young breath grow fainter and fainter; the bright eyes close for ever on them and their love. Oh! mystery of Life! thee we can know and understand; but, mystery of Death, dark and fearful, only thy chosen ones can comprehend thee. We walk to the verge of the valley of the shadow of death with those we love; but there our steps are stayed, and we look into the black void with wonder and despair. Oh! faith! if ye come not then to the rescue, that death is eternal.
Thus felt the thirteen; all older, care-worn, world-weary, standing beside the mere child-sister of the family, whose star of life was setting from their view behind an impassable mountain.
The sweet face was calm, but a hectic flush lay upon the cheek, as though some life-chord still bound her to earth.
"My child," said the old white-haired physician, "if you have aught to say, speak now; when you will awaken from the sleep this draught will produce, it may then be too late."
"My darling Fannie," said the kneeling Harwood, "for my sake let no thoughts of earth disturb you; all will be well if—"
His voice was broken. He bowed his head upon the wasted hand he held, and wept.
"All will be well," she said, smiling faintly. "I feel it now. Jessie, and you, elder brother, come near; nearer yet. I love you both, love you all. Having no relatives of my own, my husband's are doubly mine. My heart, since our marriage-day, has been living in the hope of your reconciliation. I was too young; I undertook too much. I wept when my health began to fail; I did not then know that God was giving me my wish. I would have died to have seen you all happy. He has heard my prayer; the sacrifice is made; I go happy. Jessie, my dying wish is to see you once more the forgiving girl you were, when you knelt with your brothers at your mother's knee. Oh! the chain of family love is never so rudely broken but it can be renewed. Jessie, the young lover, who died in his youth, would counsel you to forgive. The beloved parent would whisper, 'love thy brother as thyself;' He who bore the cross said 'Father forgive them—.' Jessie, a weak, dying girl begs you, for her sake, to be true to yourself."