Clara, weak and half insensible still from the deadly illness she had suffered, scarcely looked at the pure, white linen of her bed, the little comforts and luxuries about her, or the gentle and watchful Sister of Charity who bent over her, with the cool draught or the nourishing mixture. She looked only at the sleeping cherub at her bosom, without power to smooth, as she longed to, the brown curls on the forehead, or to kiss the gentle eyes in their pleasant sleep. Then she, too, sunk into such a sleep, long and refreshing, and hour after hour the Sister sat by the bed, till the night passed and the morning, and the sun came against the white curtain at the head of the silent bed. Nature was kindly dealing with Clara and her young baby; they slept and gathered strength to live. Stronger and deeper came the breath of both—more rapidly ran the rosy current over the calm faces of both, till Nature, drawing from her deep wells of love, moistened the thirsty lip of one, at the moment the glad throb of the other’s heart woke them both to happy existence. Clara nursed her child and had no words to express her joy. The watchful Sister saw the emotion that pervaded her frame, and placing her finger on her lip, prepared a composing draught for the young mother.
Many days passed of the kindest care and the most rapid recovery. Both mother and child were so well as no longer to need the constant aid of the Sister. But she sat with Clara the evening before her departure, her kind face lighted up with benevolence and interest in those she had saved from death.
“Holy Mary grant it may be best for both of you!” ejaculated she, as her fingers mechanically sought her rosary and moved rapidly over it.
“Amen!” said Clara, piously.
“You have tasted the bitterness of death once. You can never dread it so much again. I have attended many death-beds, I never saw any thing so nearly like it as yours was; but for a little warmth about the heart, I should have been quite discouraged; and then when I tore open your vest the crucifix lay there, and I was almost sure you were living. Our Blessed Mother would be loth that the pillow on which Jesus rested should be hard and cold; and sure enough it was not half an hour before your eyes opened.”
“Dear Sister Martha,” said Clara; “I had dreams in that half hour which I shall never forget to the last day of my life.”
“Tell me them if you may. The dreams of those who have passed from death back to life, must be foreshadowings and pictures of the life beyond. Holy St. Ignatius had many such, when exhausted with excessive fasts he lay in death-like swoons on the floor of his cell. Tell me, then, I pray you, in what form death came to you.”
“Like two vast dark wings, which grew darker and darker, and folded closer and closer over me, till at last they seemed to brood over me, as I have seen birds over their young. There was nothing strange or gloomy about them—nothing frightful. They seemed to have a right there, and I knew what it was; only I could not look at or attend to its approaches, because I waited and watched first for the soul of my darling to pass. I said it with my thought to the dark wings, and it replied—‘You shall pass away together.’ Then it came closer to me, like a watching mother to the bed, and I felt it come down on my eyes like a shadow, and then I seemed to sleep a long, long while. Such a sleep as one is half conscious of, and the refreshment of which he fully enjoys.
“When I awoke, I found or felt myself in the folds, as it were, of a cloud. It was rose-colored, and seemed made of music—but the music was not set harmony either, and seemed composed of all natural soothing sounds. The whisper and rush of the wave on the sea shore, the murmur of the brooklet, or the sighing of the wind among the trees or over the long grass; all sounds that are associated with peace and loveliness filled and seemed to compose this cloud, for there was a mingling of senses, so to speak, or rather all that was most lovely in sound and color and odor embathed and permeated my being without my perceiving, far less analyzing, the source of my pleasure. At length, as if the natural body were changed for a spiritual one, I began to ascend and descend on the pillowy clouds above and about me, I moved voluntarily, and was conscious of an independent existence. Slowly came back the memory of life and of its relations. But though I remembered my baby entirely, I was without that agonizing anxiety for her with which I had died. There were many soft female faces about me as I lay there, and presently I felt that the Blessed Mother herself was among them, for she leaned over me and smiled; and then, I knew without her telling me, that my own baby was the one she held in her arms and gave to me. I cannot express to you the home-feeling that this gave me. All about me grew more soft and lovely, the forms and features of all more and more distinct, as if they were careful not to oppress the new-born soul with excess of beauty.
“But when the rose-cloud floated away and the clear blue beyond of the very heavens, sprinkled with starry light, of which our firmament in a clear wintry night gives you but a feeble idea, I felt then the activity of a spirit. With the celerity of thought we traversed, in bands or alone, the infinite space, where we learned God in its beauty and vastness, and learning Him, adored Him. It was but a beginning, a moment of eternity that I had begun to taste, yet what years I seemed to myself to live! Once only I saw the Holy Jesus, and then He spoke so gently the words, ‘A little while, and where I am, you shall be also. Suffer your little one, also, to come unto me, and forbid her not; she will remember her first moments in heaven.’