Looking for a moment with unutterable tenderness upon Carlton, she closed her eyes and said, in a low but thrilling tone, “Thy will be done.”
Her parents were called in. After uttering, from the depths of his experience, a few words of consolation, the pastor kneeled down and offered a prayer, first for the dying girl, then for him who watched over her, and then for her parents and friends. During the prayer Carlton held her hand in his, and felt its feeble pressure as the petitions had reference to him.
She sunk into a brief slumber almost as soon as the prayer was ended. Perfect silence was preserved, that she might not be disturbed. Carlton still retained her hand. The mother was about to make a whispered inquiry of the pastor, when the sleeper awoke.
“Did you hear that music?” said she.
“No, dearest.”
“It was the sweetest I ever heard. It must have come from the golden harps. Hark! hear it again.”
She closed her eyes. Carlton felt her hand relax its feeble grasp. He looked toward the pastor who came to the bedside.
“She is with her God,” said the old man, bending down and imprinting a kiss upon the cheek which felt not the warm tear that fell upon it, “and you my friends”—turning to the parents—“can say, ‘the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord.’”
——