"_Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in His holy place?_" she began, with a strange vibration in her voice. "_He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul to vanity; nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of glory shall come in._" Beth's voice broke here, but with a great effort she began again fervently: "_Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors----_" There she stopped, for at the words the dear good kind old lady, with a gentle sigh, as of relief, passed from the scene of her sufferings, out of this interval of time, into the measureless eternity. CHAPTER XXIV Aunt Victoria Bench died of failure of the heart, the medical man decided; and, he might have added, if the feelings of the family had not had to be considered, that the disease was accelerated by privation and cold. For days after the event, Beth was not to be roused. She would sit in the tenantless room by the hour together, with the dear old aunt's great Bible on her knee open at some favourite passage, thinking of all that ought to have been done to save her, and suffering the ache and rage of the helpless who would certainly have done all that could have been done had they had their way. Again and again her mother fetched her down to the dining-room where there was a fire, and tried to reason with her, or scolded her for her persistent grief when reasoning produced no effect. "You must begin your lessons again, Beth," she said to her at last one morning in despair. "Giving you a holiday is doing you no good at all." Beth went upstairs without a word, and brought down the old aunt's French books, and sat at the dining-table with one of them open before her; but the sight of it recalled the happy summer days in the bright little parlour looking out on the trees and flowers, and the dear old lady with her delicate face sitting at the end of the table placidly knitting while Beth prepared her lesson, and the tears welled up in her eyes once more, and fell on the yellow pages. "Beth," said her mother emphatically, "you must not go on like this. Why are you so selfish? Don't _I_ feel it too? Yet I control myself." "You don't feel it as I do," Beth answered doggedly. "She was not so much to you when she was here, how can you miss her so much now she has gone?" "But you have others to love," Mrs. Caldwell remonstrated. "She was not your nearest relation."