There was a brief interval of silence before the mother spoke again.
“Where is he, Muriel? Let me see him. Do not hold me from him. Do not fear for me. I am calm and strong. I can bear to see him now, though he is dead.”
The pleading and pathetic voice touched Muriel to her heart’s core, though there was no sign of emotion on her face. Her clasp tightened around her mother, and for a moment her clear eyes dwelt upon the pallid countenance.
“Can you bear to look upon him now?” she replied. “Be calm—be strong. Look into that room. He is there.”
The mother, strongly held by Muriel’s arms, slowly turned her head, and gazed. A broad ray of sunlight rested on the couch, and the sculptured face shone in white splendor. Long and breathlessly she gazed upon it.
“Come,” murmured Muriel.
Clasped in each other’s arms, they moved slowly to the side of the couch, and stood gazing on the white and noble features, clear-cut and glorious in the dazzling stream of light which fell upon them, and relieved by the violet velvet on which the body lay. It was death, but death in the lustrous beauty of a vision. The rich magic splendor that irradiated the majestic countenance, seemed issuant from it—a blazing halo, in which it would rest forever.
“He is beautiful,” murmured Mrs. Eastman, in a hushed and mournful voice. “Beautiful as a dream. My dead son!”
Three little words, but in them what a large world of affection and sorrow found room! A thrill of emotion came to the silent group as her low, distinct voice, awful in its pathos, gave those words utterance. Noiselessly and slowly she sank from Muriel’s arms to her knees, and laid her head upon the pulseless breast; for a little while she remained there, with the strong glory lending a brighter silver to her tresses; and rising again, her calm face was wet with tears.
“It is a great grief,” she said, as Muriel again encircled her in her arms. “It is a greater grief, Muriel, than when your father died. I wonder that I can bear it as I do. And you, my poor child, widowed now like me, how can you endure your loss—how can you look so beautiful and happy, and he lying dead beside you?”