The miserable young mother lay back upon her pillow--death impressed
upon the sunken features, the ashen complexion, and the fixed eyes.
"Oh, what a blessing if this child could die!" cried Hannah, in a
piercing voice that reached even the failing senses of the dying girl.
There was an instant change. It was like the sudden flaring up of an
expiring light. Down came the stony eyes, melting with tenderness and
kindling with light. All the features were softened and illumined.
Those who have watched the dying are familiar with these sudden
re-kindlings of life. She spoke in tones of infinite sweetness: "Oh, do not say so, Hannah! Do not grudge the poor little thing his
life! Everything else has been taken from him, Hannah!--father, mother,
name, inheritance, and all! Leave him his little life: it has been
dearly purchased! Hold him down to me, Hannah; I will give him one kiss,
if no one ever kisses him again."
"Nora, my poor darling, you know that I will love your boy, and work for
him, and take care of him, if he lives; only I thought it was better if
it pleased God that he should go home to the Saviour," said Hannah, as
she held the infant down to receive his mother's kiss.
"God love you, poor, poor baby!" said Nora, putting up her feeble hands,
and bringing the little face close to her lips. "He will live, Hannah!
Oh, I prayed all through the dreadful night that he might live, and the
Lord has answered my prayer," she added, as she resigned the child once
more to her sister's care.
Then folding her hands over her heart, and lifting her eyes towards
heaven with a look of sweet solemnity, and, in a voice so deep,
bell-like, and beautiful that it scarcely seemed a human one, she said: "Out of the Depths have I called to Thee, and Thou hast heard my voice."
And with these sublime words upon her lips she once more dropped away
into sleep, stupor, or exhaustion--for it is difficult to define the
conditions produced in the dying by the rising and falling of the waves
of life when the tide is ebbing away. The beautiful eyes did not close,
but rolled themselves up under their lids; the sweet lips fell apart,
and the pearly teeth grew dry.
Old Mrs. Jones, who had been busy with a saucepan over the fire, now
approached the bedside, saying: "Is she 'sleep?"
"I do not know. Look at her, and see if she is," replied the weeping
sister.