His hand was withdrawn for one moment; my sight was blinded with the cold pressure on my eyes; then I read,—
MARY, DAUGHTER OF JULIUS AND MARY PERCIVAL,
DIED
AUGUST 30th, 1843,
AGED
17 YEARS.
"My sister," I said
"Your sister, whom I killed."
"Ere I was old enough to know her."
"Have you one drop of mercy for him who destroyed your sister?" he asked,—and his haughty will was suffused in pleading.
I thought of the third figure in the celestial picture, as it gazed upon the outstretched hand, and I said,—
"God hath not made me your judge; why should I refuse mercy?"
A flash of intuition came. The young girl, whose portrait was in the house of the Axtells, whose face had been next my mother's, who asked me to do something for her on the earth,—could they all be manifestations of Mary?