"Through cross to crown!--And though thy spirit"s lifeTrials untold assail with giant strength,Good cheer! good cheer! Soon ends the bitter strife,And thou shalt reign in peace with Christ at length."
KOSEGARTEN.
"Ay sooth, we feel too strong in weal, to need Thee on that road;Butwoe being come, the soul is dumb, that crieth not on "God.""MRS.
BROWNING.That afternoon she walked swiftly to the Higgins"s house.
Mary was looking out for her, with a half-distrustful face. Margaretsmiled into her eyes to re-assure her. They passed quickly through thehouse-place, upstairs, and into the quiet presence of the dead. ThenMargaret was glad that she had come. The face, often so weary withpain, so restless with troublous thoughts, had now the faint soft smile ofeternal rest upon it. The slow tears gathered into Margaret"s eyes, but adeep calm entered into her soul. And that was death! It looked morepeaceful than life. All beautiful scriptures came into her mind. "Theyrest from their labours." "The weary are at rest." "He giveth His belovedsleep."
Slowly, slowly Margaret turned away from the bed. Mary was humblysobbing in the back-ground. They went down stairs without a word.
Resting his hand upon the house-table, Nicholas Higgins stood in themidst of the floor; his great eyes startled open by the news he hadheard, as he came along the court, from many busy tongues. His eyeswere dry and fierce; studying the reality of her death; bringing himselfto understand that her place should know her no more. For she had beensickly, dying so long, that he had persuaded himself she would not die;that she would "pull through."
Margaret felt as if she had no business to be there, familiarlyacquainting herself with the surroundings of death which he, the father,had only just learnt. There had been a pause of an instant on the steepcrooked stair, when she first saw him; but now she tried to steal past hisabstracted gaze, and to leave him in the solemn circle of his householdmisery.
Mary sat down on the first chair she came to, and throwing her apronover her head, began to cry.
The noise appeared to rouse him. He took sudden hold of Margaret"sarm, and held her till he could gather words to speak. seemed dry; theycame up thick, and choked, and hoarse:
"Were yo" with her? Did yo" see her die?"
"No!" replied Margaret, standing still with the utmost patience, now shefound herself perceived. It was some time before he spoke again, but hekept his hold on her arm.
"All men must die," said he at last, with a strange sort of gravity, whichfirst suggested to Margaret the idea that he had been drinking--notenough to intoxicate himself, but enough to make his thoughtsbewildered. "But she were younger than me." Still he pondered over theevent, not looking at Margaret, though he grasped her tight. Suddenly,he looked up at her with a wild searching inquiry in his glance. "Yo"resure and certain she"s dead--not in a dwam, a faint?--she"s been sobefore, often."
"She is dead," replied Margaret. She felt no fear in speaking to him,though he hurt her arm with his gripe, and wild gleams came across thestupidity of his eyes.
"She is dead!" she said.
He looked at her still with that searching look, which seemed to fadeout of his eyes as he gazed. Then he suddenly let go his hold ofMargaret, and, throwing his body half across the table, he shook it andevery piece of furniture in the room, with his violent sobs. Mary cametrembling towards him.
"Get thee gone!--get thee gone!" he cried, striking wildly and blindly ather. "What do I care for thee?" Margaret took her hand, and held it softlyin hers. He tore his hair, he beat his head against the hard wood, then helay exhausted and stupid. Still his daughter and Margaret did not move.
Mary trembled from head to foot.
At last--it might have been a quarter of an hour, it might have been anhour--he lifted himself up. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and heseemed to have forgotten that any one was by; he scowled at thewatchers when he saw them. He Shook himself heavily, gave them onemore sullen look, spoke never a word, but made for the door.
"Oh, father, father!" said Mary, throwing herself upon his arm,--"not tonight!
Any night but to-night. Oh, help me! he"s going out to drinkagain! Father, I"ll not leave yo". Yo" may strike, but I"ll not leave yo". Shetold me last of all to keep yo" fro" drink!"
But Margaret stood in the doorway, silent yet commanding. He lookedup at her defyingly.
"It"s my own house. Stand out o" the way, wench, or I"ll make yo"!" Hehad shaken off Mary with violence; he looked ready to strike Margaret.
But she never moved a feature--never took her deep, serious eyes offhim. He stared back on her with gloomy fierceness. If she had stirredhand or foot, he would have thrust her aside with even more violencethan he had used to his own daughter, whose face was bleeding fromher fall against a chair.
"What are yo" looking at me in that way for?" asked he at last, dauntedand awed by her severe calm. "If yo" think for to keep me from goingwhat gait I choose, because she loved yo"--and in my own house, too,where I never asked yo" to come, yo"re mista"en. It"s very hard upon aman that he can"t go to the only comfort left."
Margaret felt that he acknowledged her power. What could she do next?
He had seated himself on a chair, close to the door; half-conquered, half-resenting; intending to go out as soon as she left her position, butunwilling to use the violence he had threatened not five minutes before.
Margaret laid her hand on his arm.
"Come with me," she said. "Come and see her!"
The voice in which she spoke was very low and solemn; but there wasno fear or doubt expressed in it, either of him or of his compliance. Hesullenly rose up. He stood uncertain, with dogged irresolution upon hisface. She waited him there; quietly and patiently waited for his time tomove. He had a strange pleasure in making her wait; but at last hemoved towards the stairs.
She and he stood by the corpse.
"Her last words to Mary were, "Keep my father fro" drink.""
