Home Influence: A Tale for Mothers and DaughtersAguilar, Grace
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Home Influence: A Tale for Mothers and Daughters
Aguilar, Grace
Domestic fiction; Mothers and daughters -- Fiction
"My own sister, bless you--for all you have been to me--all you will be
to my children--may they repay you better than I have done, Emmeline!
You are right, there is but one hope, our Saviour, for the sinner--it is
mine--" were the broken sentences that, in a voice which was scarcely
audible, and uttered at long intervals, escaped Mrs. Fortescue's lips,
and then her head sunk lower on Mrs. Hamilton's bosom, and there was a
long, long silence, broken only by Edward's low and half-suffocated
sobs. And he knew not, guessed not, the grief that was impending. He
only felt that his mother was worse, not better, as he had believed she
would and must be, when his aunt arrived. He had never seen death,
though Ellen had and he had passionately and willfully refused either to
listen or to believe in his uncle's and Mr. Myrvin's gentle attempts to
prepare him for his loss. Terrified at the continued silence, at the
cold heavy feel of his mother's hand, as, when Mr. Myrvin and the widow
gently removed her from the still-supporting arm of Mrs. Hamilton, it
fell against his, he started up, and clinging to his aunt, implored her
to speak to him, to tell him why his mother looked so strange and white,
her hand felt so cold, and why she would not speak to and kiss him, as
she always did, when he was grieved.
Mrs. Hamilton raised her head from her husband's shoulder, and
struggling with her own deep sorrow, she drew her orphan nephew closer
to her, and said, in a low, earnest voice, "My Edward, did you not hear
your mother pray God to bless you?"
The child looked at her inquiringly.
"That good God has taken her to Himself, my love; He has thought it
better to remove her from us, and take her where she will never know
pain nor illness more."
"But she is lying there," whispered Edward, in a frightened voice, and
half hiding his face in his aunt's dress, "she is not taken away. Why
will she not speak to me?"
"She can not speak, my sweet boy! the soul which enabled her to speak,
and smile, and live, was God's gift, and it has pleased Him to recall
it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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