"I almost wish that I could go with you," whispered Leonie, choking back her sobs. "There is so little of happiness here, and so much promised there. I know that I am ungrateful to Heaven for all the kind friends that have been sent me, but my mother is up there, Liz, and sometimes the desire is so strong upon me to see her and Dad, to be with them again, that I can scarcely control it."
"I had forgotten them. I shall see them before you will, dear."
"Yes, and if you can deliver them a message for me, tell them that I ought to be happy, that I am ungrateful, but that the whole craving of my heart is to be with them and with God. Tell them that I have and shall do only what I believe they would advise and wish me to do. Oh, Liz, I wish that I might go with you!"
There was something curiously touching in that scene, so simple and yet so explicit in its faith. There was not the smallest doubt in the heart of either.
The dying woman reached up her arms and clasped them about the girlish neck.
"Not yet, dear," she whispered. "Life should hold many things that are precious to one so beautiful and so good as you. Heaven has not forgotten you. Only trust it all to God. But when the good days come, do not forget Him in your enjoyment. Remember that the hour that I am awaiting almost impatiently now must come to you at last."
Leonie was weeping softly. Her very heart seemed breaking.
She had never seemed so utterly alone since that night upon which her grandfather had left her to battle with life alone.
The friends she had left seemed to count as nothing in that hour.
She could scarcely control an hysterical sobbing, but for Liz's sake she knew she must.