that it checked even the sobs of sorrow
“O, God, this is dreadful!” he said, turning away in agony, and wringing Tom’s hand, scarce conscious what he was doing. “O, Tom, my boy, it is killing me!”
Tom had his master’s hands between his own; and, with tears streaming down his dark cheeks, looked up for help where he had always been used to look.
“Pray that this may be cut short!” said St. Clare,–“this wrings my heart.”
“O, bless the Lord! it’s over,–it’s over, dear Master!” said Tom; “look at her.”
The child lay panting on her pillows, as one exhausted,–the large clear eyes rolled up and fixed. Ah, what said those eyes, that spoke so much of heaven! Earth was past,–and earthly pain; but so solemn, so mysterious, was the triumphant brightness of that face, that it checked even the sobs of sorrow. They pressed around her, in breathless stillness.
“Eva,” said St. Clare, gently.
She did not hear.
“O, Eva, tell us what you see! What is it?” said her father.
A bright, a glorious smile passed over her face, and she said, brokenly,–“O! love,–joy,–peace!” gave one sigh and passed from death unto life!
“Farewell, beloved child! the bright, eternal doors have closed after thee; we shall see thy sweet face no more. O, woe for them who watched thy entrance into heaven, when they shall wake and find only the cold gray sky of daily life, and thou gone forever!”
Part 2 Chapter 27
[1] “This is the last of Earth! I am content,” last words of John Quincy Adams, uttered February 21, 1848.
The statuettes and pictures in Eva’s room were shrouded in white napkins, and only hushed breathings and muffled footfalls were heard there, and the light stole in solemnly through windows partially darkened by closed blinds.
The bed was draped in white; and there, beneath the drooping angel-figure, lay a little sleeping form,–sleeping never to waken!
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