Chapter 28

CHAPTER XXVIII - COMFORT IN SORROW

'Through cross to crown!--And though thy spirit's life

Trials untold assail with giant strength,

Good cheer! good cheer! Soon ends the bitter strife,

And thou shalt reign in peace with Christ at length.'

KOSEGARTEN.

'Ay sooth, we feel too strong in weal, to need Thee on that road;

But woe being come, the soul is dumb, that crieth not on "God."'

MRS. BROWNING.

That afternoon she walked swiftly to the Higgins's house. Mary
was looking out for her, with a half-distrustful face. Margaret
smiled into her eyes to re-assure her. They passed quickly through
the house-place, upstairs, and into the quiet presence of the dead.
Then Margaret was glad that she had come. The face, often so weary
with pain, so restless with troublous thoughts, had now the faint
soft smile of eternal rest upon it. The slow tears gathered into
Margaret's eyes, but a deep calm entered into her soul. And that
was death! It looked more peaceful than life. All beautiful
scriptures came into her mind. 'They rest from their labours.'
'The weary are at rest.' 'He giveth His beloved sleep.'

Slowly, slowly Margaret turned away from the bed. Mary was humbly
sobbing in the back-ground. They went down stairs without a word.

Resting his hand upon the house-table, Nicholas Higgins stood in
the midst of the floor; his great eyes startled open by the news
he had heard, as he came along the court, from many busy tongues.
His eyes were dry and fierce; studying the reality of her death;
bringing himself to understand that her place should know her no
more. For she had been sickly, dying so long, that he had
persuaded himself she would not die; that she would 'pull
through.'

Margaret felt as if she had no business to be there, familiarly
acquainting herself with the surroundings of death which he, the
father, had only just learnt. There had been a pause of an
instant on the steep crooked stair, when she first saw him; but
now she tried to steal past his abstracted gaze, and to leave him
in the solemn circle of his household misery.

Mary sat down on the first chair she came to, and throwing her
apron over her head, began to cry.

The noise appeared to rouse him. He took sudden hold of
Margaret's arm, and held her till he could gather words to speak.
seemed dry; they came up thick, and choked, and hoarse:

'Were yo' with her? Did yo' see her die?'

'No!' replied Margaret, standing still with the utmost patience,
now she found herself perceived. It was some time before he spoke
again, but he kept his hold on her arm.

'All men must die,' said he at last, with a strange sort of
gravity, which first suggested