“But we miss her so, Lisa,” said Rose, as her large eyes filled.
“So do I, but you do not see me going about crying over an old glove or a scrap of writing as you do. And you cannot say that I love her less than the rest of her sisters.”
“Moreover, my dear girls,” said Kenneth, taking his seat among them, and lifting little Ernest on his knee, “your spirits affect your father’s. He feels the loss of his child, and you must all try to speak of her return and not of her departure. I know how much you feel Kate’s absence, but you must begin to look upon your separation as a thing that is to come one day. It is in the course of nature. There are three more to leave their home; how can you expect that all can be as fortunate as Blanche and Kate, who remain with you, as of yore. Paul’s business will probably detain him a year, but he will return to settle here with us, and we must look at the bright side of things as long as we can. I have been saying all this to Blanche who ought to be as reasonable as Lisa; and now I am come to beg you for your own sakes to bear inevitable trials with the fortitude that is so precious when you once attain it. Minnie wants scolding, I am afraid,” continued he, as he stroked her head fondly. “Why do you not play on the piano and sing as usual? The sound of music will enliven us all, and the mechanical exercise of those little fingers will occupy your mind after a while, particularly if you set to work with those études of Moschelles, of whose difficulty I have heard so much.” And he smiled so encouragingly that Minnie flew off to mind him, and soon after Mr. de la Croix come out of his room, saying he was glad to hear the piano going again. Minnie was rewarded fully when she saw him take his old seat and doze while she played; and she told Kenneth in confidence, that she was much obliged to him for the scolding, but he must not tell Lisa, because she might take advantage of it. And there came that night a long letter from Kate, that helped to comfort them all. Poor Kate! her return was destined to be a sad one, for on the route, her beautiful little girl, her darling Blanche, was taken sick, and drooped so rapidly, that when she reached home, there was no longer any hope.
Silently they folded her in their arms, and noiselessly they bent their steps to her own old room, and placed the little sufferer upon its bed. Its soft eyes turned lovingly to its stricken mother, who sat beside it in mute agony, as once more they all stood together and mourned over her. Poor, wretched mother! so young to be so sorrowed! How full of anguish was the appealing look she cast upon her father, as he gazed with all a parent’s suffering upon his bright, merry-hearted Kate.
All that human skill could do was done—all that tender watchfulness could effect; but the angels had gathered round, and were beckoning that little spirit away. Paler grew the pale cheek—dim the sweet, loving eyes; and the young mother bent over her beautiful child, in misery such as they know only who have laid these treasures in the grave.
“Oh God of heaven!” was her mournful cry, “thou hast taken the sunshine of my life! Darker and darker grows the world to me, as those loved eyes grow dim. Thou hast crushed me to the earth, oh God! raise me with faith in thy unerring wisdom, that I may not doubt thy justice! Oh, my treasured one! Oh, my more than life—what is life to me?”
Her husband turned and placed his hand in hers. She bowed her head upon it, as though to seek forgiveness, and once more raised it to look upon her darling. To the last those eyes had turned to her with a long, lingering look, but now Lisa was closing them in their eternal sleep, and the angels were bearing that pure, sinless one in triumph to their home.
With a loud, piercing cry, the childless mother fell back, and the sisters no longer restraining their grief, filled the house with their cries. Kenneth bore her out of the room, and returned for Paul, who stood gazing at his dead infant as one stupefied.
“Go to your wife, Paul,” said he; “go to poor Kate; your love alone can soften this heavy blow;” and he remained to bend and kiss the now stiffening form of the lovely little creature. “I will send Blanche to you, Lisa; you must not perform the last sad task alone. Alas! poor Kate! how my heart bleeds for you!”
He then sought Mr. de la Croix, who was wildly walking about the garden, muttering to himself in his grief for the grandchild he had never known, and the mother—his darling Kate. Kenneth remained to soothe him, and after persuading him to take some rest, returned to the house.