"I cannot put away the feeling that I am not wanted; but it has no place here, now at least, and I will go," she said.
So, with Katie to help, she went to throw an air of light into the rooms below, to waft away the sombre shadows that clouded them, to let in a little of the coming life that must still be lived. And I waited on, up-stairs, and listened, counting each long, low peal of the bell, as it shook out its solemn meaning into the March air, and lost itself in quivering distances. They, the kindly hearts, who had come to perform the last rite, must have moved very slowly on; for I counted out the years that the one gone had lived, ere the bell stopped.
Then was silence. In that stillness they were gently lifting down the once more little one,—for are not our dead all little ones, to be watchfully thought of, to be tenderly cared for?—yes, lifting her gently down into the cradle that God hath prepared, and set the sun to rock, until His smile shall awaken, and His arms lift us out of it.
The opiate's power was past. Miss Axtell turned upon the pillow, and asked Kate for a glass of water.
I carried it to her, lifted her head, and she drank of it without opening her eyes. She asked for Abraham.
"He will be here soon," I replied.
"I thought it was Kate," she said, calling me my own name. "Have you been here long?"
"Since morning."
"Is it afternoon?"
"Yes, three o'clock."