"Mother, where are you?" he asked after a little while.
She embraced his knees and hid her streaming eyes in his lap. "Oh, my poor, kind husband,--blind! Oh God! Those dear, dear eyes!" And then her grief would not be controlled, and she lay at his feet, sobbing loudly.
Herr Leonhardt gently raised her until her head rested upon his shoulder, and then waited until the first outbreak should be past. He too had had moments this morning that none but his God might witness. He could not ask his wife to do what had been impossible for himself. At last he said softly and tenderly, "Brigitta, you have been everything to me that a wife can be to her husband. I have always thought there was nothing left for you to do, and yet in your old age our loving Father has filled up the measure of your self-sacrifice and laid upon you a heavier burden than any you have yet had to bear. He has taken from me the power to support you, and calls upon you, a weary, aged pilgrim, to be your husband's staff upon his path to the grave. It seems very hard,--but, dear Brigitta, when God calls, what should we answer?"
"Lord, here am I!" said his wife, and the resignation and cheerful submission in her voice were truly wonderful. She embraced her aged husband, and her tears flowed more gently as she said, "I will guide and support you, and never be weary."
"Thanks, dear heart. And now be calm, for my sake! Think how much worse it would have been if you had found me this morning dead in my bed!"
"Oh, a thousand times worse!"
"Then do not let us rebel because God has taken from me one of the five senses, with which He endows us that we may enjoy the glory of His universe, he has still left me four. If I can no longer see your dear face, I can still hear your gentle voice of comfort and feel you by my side; and although I cannot see the sun, I can still warm myself in its beams,--I can inhale the fragrance of the flowers that it calls into life,--enjoy the fruits that it ripens. I can hear the songs of the birds, and with them praise my Creator from the depths of my soul. How much he has left me! We will not be like thankless beggars, showing our gratitude for benefits by complaining that they are not great enough. I have seen the sunlight for sixty-eight years. Shall I complain because, just before my entrance into eternal light, God darkens my eyes, as we do a child's when we lead it up to a brilliant Christmas-tree? I will bear the bandage patiently, and try to prepare my soul for the glories awaiting it. Let us but remember all this, dear wife, and we shall not be sad any longer."
The old man ceased. His darkened eyes were radiant with light from within, the reflection of those heavenly beams of which in spirit he had a foresight.
His wife had listened to him with folded hands, and her simple nature was elevated and refined by thus witnessing his lofty resignation. The peaceful silence that reigned in the room was too sacred to be broken by any sounds of earthly sorrow. Her eyes were tearless as she gazed upon the noble face of the man who was all in all to her, and she waited humbly for further words from him. At last the only words escaped her lips that she could utter in her present frame of mind. "And our son?" she asked softly.
An expression of pain flitted across his features. "That is the hardest to bear,--our poor son! God give him strength, as He once gave me strength when I was forced to leave the University and become a schoolmaster. I told him a short time ago what the physicians said. I did not tell you, for I wanted to spare you as long as I could. He sent me a reply by return of mail, which you shall hear, now that I have nothing to conceal from you. You shall read it, and be glad that you have such a son."