As the last note died away, he stepped forward and lifted the unconscious form from Astra's arms. She looked up at him wonderingly.
"The earthly hymn was very sweet," said he gently, "but the song of the redeemed in Paradise is sweeter still."
Still she seemed not to understand. What words were at once tender and solemn enough for the full explanation? None but those of inspiration; at once old and fresh; having poured their balm all along down through the centuries, yet falling on each newly bereaved heart, as if still moist and cool with the dew of their birth. Reverently he quoted:—
"'Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them.'"
Mrs. Lyte was taken to Berganton, and laid in the churchyard by her husband's side, amid much kindred dust. Bergan accompanied the small funeral train to within two or three miles of the village, and then turned back; in obedience to Astra's wish, as expressed to him through Diva Thane. The poor girl remembered in what way her name and his had been connected, and naturally shrank from anything that might seem to give it confirmation. But as the train passed the avenue to Bergan Hall, the Major wheeled into the vacant place behind the carriage of the chief mourners, assisted them out at the gate of the cemetery, and offered Astra his arm.
"I am your father's nearest living relative," said he, huskily, "and though I behaved like a brute to your mother at one time, I have been sorry enough for it since, to have a right to follow her to the grave."
Many of Mrs. Lyte's old friends and neighbors gathered round to assist in the last solemn rites, and some of them came afterward to say a few words of sympathy and regret to Astra. She was not surprised that Doctor Remy was not of the number, but she did wonder a little that she saw nothing of Carice. She had observed Mrs. Bergan standing near the foot of the grave, looking strangely old and altered; but she seemed to have disappeared as soon as the service was ended.
Having conducted her back to the carriage, and seated her therein, Major Bergan took a folded paper from her pocket, tore it in pieces, and laid the fragments on her lap.
"There it is," said he; "and I wish that my hand had been sawed off before I ever wrote to your mother, to tell her of its existence. The place is yours now, free and unincumbered, to do what you like with. Good bye; and don't bear malice, if you can help it."
He gave her no opportunity to reply, but signalled to the coachman to drive on. Looking back, she saw him standing on the same spot, with uncovered head, watching the carriage until it was out of sight.