Cruikshank, George, 1792-1878; Illustration of books -- Great Britain -- 19th century; Watercolor painting, British
A knell from the church bell broke harshly on these youthful
thoughts. Another! Again! It was tolling for the funeral service.
A group of humble mourners entered the gate: wearing white favours;
for the corpse was young. They stood uncovered by a grave; and there
was a mother--a mother once--among the weeping train. But the sun
shone brightly, and the birds sang on.
Oliver turned homeward, thinking on the many kindnesses he had
received from the young lady, and wishing that the time could
come again, that he might never cease showing her how grateful and
attached he was. He had no cause for self-reproach on the score of
neglect, or want of thought, for he had been devoted to her service;
and yet a hundred little occasions rose up before him, on which
he fancied he might have been more zealous, and more earnest, and
wished he had been. We need be careful how we deal with those about
us, when every death carries to some small circle of survivors,
thoughts of so much omitted, and so little done--of so many things
forgotten, and so many more which might have been repaired! There
is no remorse so deep as that which is unavailing; if we would be
spared its tortures, let us remember this, in time.
When he reached home Mrs. Maylie was sitting in the little parlour.
Oliver’s heart sank at sight of her; for she had never left the
bedside of her niece; and he trembled to think what change could
have driven her away. He learnt that she had fallen into a deep
sleep, from which she would waken, either to recovery and life, or
to bid them farewell, and die.
They sat, listening, and afraid to speak, for hours. The untasted
meal was removed, with looks which showed that their thoughts were
elsewhere, they watched the sun as he sank lower and lower, and, at
length, cast over sky and earth those brilliant hues which herald
his departure. Their quick ears caught the sound of an approaching
footstep. They both involuntarily darted to the door, as Mr.
Losberne entered.
‘What of Rose?’ cried the old lady. ‘Tell me at once! I can bear it;
anything but suspense! Oh, tell me! in the name of Heaven!’
‘You must compose yourself,’ said the doctor supporting her. ‘Be
calm, my dear ma’am, pray.’
‘Let me go, in God’s name! My dear child! She is dead! She is
dying!’
‘No!’ cried the doctor, passionately. ‘As He is good and merciful,
she will live to bless us all, for years to come.’
The lady fell upon her knees, and tried to fold her hands together;
but the energy which had supported her so long, fled up to Heaven
with her first thanksgiving; and she sank into the friendly arms
which were extended to receive her.
CHAPTER XXXIV -- CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE
TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE; AND A NEW
ADVENTURE WHICH HAPPENED TO OLIVER
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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