THE SORROW WAS all gone from my sweet lady’s eyes as they rested lovingly on mine. For the day had dawned once more, the shadows had melted away from about me, and I was standing in the early sunshine, my hands in hers, in a strong grasp of new strength and comradeship. Was I dreaming, or was that the same light of triumph on her countenance which had so impressed me in the dark-eyed saint who had led the little old lady of seventy to her Lord, and was she triumphing for me?...
But my heart was too full of enlarged life to allow me to linger for more than a moment on this new impression. I hastened to share it with her. “Sweet sister,...” I did not notice the new equality.... “I have found it. I know... what it is to love.”
The grasp on my hands grew tighter.
“And although there,” glancing back, “and for a little time, it is indeed sorrow,... for all eternity it will be joy.”
Ah! the deep, deep joy that glowed in the eyes of my listener!
“They are coming, are they not,... one by one; all those who have one spark of the Divine in them? And I know now why you pleaded for me so earnestly as my excuse that I had not known poverty, for indeed ‘Hardly shall they that have riches enter into the Kingdom.’ It is poverty that has taught many of these poor souls that lesson of self-forgetfulness, which I altogether failed in learning. And sorrow is teaching others; and all,... all except that lowest grade of all, that one in every hundred, which none yet have had power to raise or help — all are living nearer to the lessons of life, than are many of the dwellers at ease on the hillside.”
No word would she speak in answer, but her look was eloquent of triumph at every word I spoke, and pleaded for more,... more....
“Yes, they are surely closer to each other in their struggling and striving, failing and winning, than are the rich they envy. It is true, they stretch out weary limbs at night, and aching frames are laid on hard couches; but often and often, even then, their hearts ‘make holiday.’ For often, too tired to sleep, they allow their minds to dwell on the hard task completed, the righteous debt paid, want once more tided over for some one dearer than self! Yes, through it all, round the hearts of the loving among them — and there are many such — there never ceases to play that warmth of tender feeling, that only stern workers know who toil for those they love. Ah! to stand in the breach for the weak!... above all, for the weak that we love!... I have learned, sweet sister, from that struggling multitude, that there is no joy on earth to compare with that; there is, there can be, no joy in earth or heaven greater than that.”...
Upon which my Blessed Damozel loosened suddenly her grasp of my hands, put her arms round my neck, and our lips met in a kiss that was full of promise. It told that we were one in intent and purpose: that we loved one another, but we loved humanity more; and the joy of the future would be, that, hand in hand, we would go forth together, as “ministers of grace” to “do His pleasure.”
“God bless all those who are trying to add to the sum of human happiness; God bless all those who are trying to lessen the sum of human pain,” had prayed Sunday after Sunday the clergyman of our parish.
Ah! we should be henceforth among “the blessed of God.”
When she drew it back, my Blessed Damozel’s face shone with such beauty that I found myself saying in fresh wonderment, “How very beautiful you are!”
She smiled. “Come,” she said.
And she led me to a lake clear as crystal.
“Look.”
I bent and saw reflected in it two faces side by side. One was that of my companion, smiling back at me with a beauty that again filled me with a great sense of gladness. I loved beauty. I loved her beauty.
Then I turned to the other, and as I looked my wonder grew and grew; and as my wonder grew, the eyes in the looking-glass we had found grew larger and softer and softer, till they filled with tears.
“I cannot be like that.”...
“You are like that,” whispered my sister; “for that is ‘the beauty of Holiness.’”
“But I am not holy!” said I, in still deeper amazement.
“Holiness is... an Infinite Sympathy for others,” she whispered again. “You remember?”...
Yes, I remembered a sister on Earth had spoken that, and I had thought it very beautiful.
While I was still pondering I felt my companion turn from me, and wafted on the soft air, there came from the direction in which she turned a distant sound of rejoicing.
I raised my head and turned with her. “What... is it?” I asked.
“The ‘Songs of them that triumph,’” said my Blessed Damozel, her eye lighting, her body swaying forward; ‘the Shouts of them that feast.’ Hark! they are calling to us, calling to you and to me.... Come.”
With a long, long sigh I was awaking. Awaking to what? To the twilight of a darkened chamber, to the far, far-off sound of familiar voices: now to the sight of a familiar face.
It was the hospital nurse. She took my hand.
I could hear her speak. I could catch what she was saying.
“She is conscious, I am sure. She pressed my hand.”
Another far - off voice: our clergyman’s. “It was prayer that brought her back. For a moment the soul seemed separate from the body, but I was intent she should not die; with her powers, her riches, her youth, she had so much to do in the world yet.... I would not let her go.”
I struggled for utterance.
“So much to do in the world yet! One loving woman to one struggling sister,... to have her and hold her,... and care for her and love her, — above all,... to love her... for ever.”...
“She is wandering again,” said the nurse.
Was I wandering? Am I wandering still?... Has it been a dream, a dream and nothing more?
THE END