and although the right hand faltered sometimes as it tried to obey the willing heart in its behests of love, yet she went on bravely and steadily to the end, never passing by one unperformed duty, never stepping over one cross which ought to be lifted and carried; until, all being finished, there was nothing left for her to do, but only to die. One Which she did very quietly, as everything else that Maud had to do had been done. by one the daily journeys into the village were shortened, until the people ceased to listen for her step, or wait for the benediction of her presence; and prayed for her always with tears. Then the customary little household duties were laid aside, because there was no strength left for them. Still it was easy to think the end was far off yet. For the colour came and went in her face as it had always done, and her voice had the pleasant, well-remembered tone, without one touch of weariness or pain; and the smile, almost the old child-smile of those long ago days, was folded down upon her lips. And there was still the same sweet dignity in every look and motion, the same gentle, unselfish thought for others, which seemed as if it could neither change nor cease, so freely did it always come. Just as it had been given and received in that home for years and years past, until they had learned to think of it as we do of daily light and sunshine. She was lying back, close by the window, in the great easy chair, and Miss Nunly stood beside her. They had been holding long speech of years past, as they looked out into the garden and watched the sunlight creeping up and down, flickering in and out among the leaves, and making broad, soft shadows upon the lawn and the long reaches of meadow-land beyond. But now a great silence had fallen between them for thought and memory to work in. It deepened the lines on Miss Nunly's face, and laid a weary cloud upon her forehead, did that long silence; but to Maud's it brought only a deeper, more intense peace. Once more, and for the last time, ere it was given to her again for ever, there came that far back little golden year of hope, the hope that had changed the current of her whole life, and whose loss had worked out for her such noble compensation. It came to her in its earthly likeness, for just one more loving look, and she said farewell to it very quietly, knowing that it would be only a little while before she saw it again, transfigured into heavenly beauty, hers for ever. Standing in the light of the new world, the shadows of this one passed away, and she remembered only the joy. Drawing so near, step by step to the eternal gates, which no thought of sadness might find leave to enter, the angel of sorrow that had companied her through all these years, let fall his garb of mourning, and she beheld him as one of the shining ones. What need, then, for the glory to come down upon her face as she thought of these things? Little by little the sunshine crept away, all but a few last golden streaks, leaving behind it on the trees and the distant hills a very soft purple haze before the grey twilight came. And the sparkles of light died off and away from the old beech tree and the grassy orchard path, where they two had so often walked; and all was sinking slowly, silently into the hush of early evening, wherein nature makes no sign but that half-perceptible undertone of change and decay which is heard in autumn time, when things are wending to their rest. And then, slowly winding round through the Marbrook valley, with a broken, uncertain sigh, came once again the whistle of the railway train; not sharp and ringing now, but with a dim, half-stifled tone, as it cleft its way through the falling mists, then sobbed along past Lingold Wood and across Braeton plantation, until far away in the open country it wore itself out in a low, plaintive, eerie sort of wail, that could be clearly tracked for long in that evening silence. The sound woke Miss Nunly from her dream, and turned her eyes, full of pitying sympathy, upon Maud. Must that harsh, untuneful voice always come between her and the memory of the past? must she ever so be listening to the story of his death? No! For there was not even a quiver on the shut eyelids, not a touch of pain on the lips, to which the quiet smile had just come back. And then, bending over her, Miss Nunly saw that the warm light upon her face was given there by the lingering sunlight only. It was all over. The "little while," so long waited for, so patiently endured, was gone at last. Stephen Roden and Maud would never have to part any more now, never any more at all. "And so He bringeth them to the haven where they would be.” THE END. LONDON PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. NEW-STREET SQUARE |
