Chapter XV: Sunrise

THE early daylight was stealing into the room, when Dr. Arundel became certain that his dearly-loved one was no longer there.

He drew his hand from under the sweet cheek, which had not been wasted by long illness, and gently laid her back by little Tom.

He knelt down by her side and laid his head against her arm. "My dear, my dear," he said softly, "what shall I do without you?"

Then, afraid lest Nurse Raymond should come in, he pressed one kiss on the lifeless lips, and promising himself some quiet time with his beloved by-and-by, he went round the bed to lift little Tom from his resting-place.

Nurse Raymond entered at the moment; and as they carried Tom into the next room, his father heard him murmur:

"What is it, papa? Why are you moving me? Doesn't she want me any more?"

"No, dear," he answered gently, hoping Tom would be satisfied without further questions.

"Shall I go back to her by-and-by?" asked Tom piteously.

"No, dear," answered his father tenderly; "she is gone away for a little while."

"She? Gone away and left me?"

"God sent for her, my child."

Tom was silent; at last he said softly:

"Will she come back, papa?"

"No, my dear; we shall go to be with her, but she will never come back."

Then, overpowered by the expression in words of the dreadful certainty, he clasped his arms tighter round the frail form, and deep sobs of agony broke from him.

Tom needed no further telling, and such an anguish swept over him, that afterwards, he wondered it had not killed him.

At first he could only wail out, "Mamma, mamma!" But by-and-by, he became aware that his father's grief must be as great as his, and, used latterly to think of others, he at last checked his wild sobs, and began to quiet his quailing heart. After a few minutes, he left off crying, and put his thin little hand up to his father's face.

"Dear papa," he said soothingly, "dear papa, we shall see her again."

The strong arms pressed him, and the awful sobs stilled a little.

"She would be so grieved for you, if she could see—" murmured the little comforter.

His father roused himself. "You are right, dear; and I would not have her see. We will pray, my child."

He bent his head over his little son, but no words would come. Tom lay still, looking first at him, and then upwards; and at last Dr. Arundel spoke.

"I thank Thee, yes, I thank Thee, that Thou hast so tenderly taken my darling to be with Thee; and I say from my heart that I give her up to Thee!"

There was a long, deep silence after this, while the sun gradually rose and peeped in at the window, and stole along the floor till its bright rays touched little Tom's pale face.

"See, papa," he said softly, "the Sun of righteousness has arisen, with healing in His wings."

* * * * * * *

Nellie, entering the nursery about an hour after her father had told her the sad news, found all the little ones creeping about on tiptoe, afraid of disturbing the loved mother beneath.

Mary looked up in her face, and knew all the moment their eyes met.

Nellie went straight over to the baby, and took him on her lap, and then drew Dolly to her knee.

"You've been crying," said Dolly, looking anxiously in her face.

"Yes," answered Nellie quietly; "but I want to tell you all something. Come, Netta and Isabel, darlings, come close to me."

"Is mamma worse?" asked Isabel.

"No, dear children, she is better; she is gone to be with Jesus."

"Gone?" said Dolly, with such a wail that Nellie's calmness almost gave way.

"Yes," she said, steadying her voice again; "her spirit is gone to heaven to be with God. By-and-by, you shall go in and kiss her dear face once more; but she will not know anything about it, because her spirit is away, quite happy with God."

Netta and Isabel hid their faces against Nellie's dress, and she drew them closer to her, while she went on softly:

"We must all die some day, you know, dears, unless, indeed, the Lord Jesus should come first and fetch us all away; but if not that, we must all die; and dear mamma told me to tell you that she wants you all to come to be where she is. How do you think you can get there?"

The little girls only clung closer to her dress; but she was glad to believe that they already knew the way, and were walking in it.

Dolly gazed at her with awe-struck eyes.

"Jesus is the way. If you ask Him, He will take you by-and-by to be where you will see dear mamma again."

Then she tenderly kissed the baby, and pointing upwards told him "that is where Jesus lives, and where mamma lives;" and then, telling them all to be very quiet, she left the room.

As she crossed the landing to her own chamber, some of the weight of responsibility which would rest on her young shoulders came over her.

Ada was there, lying across the foot of her bed, with her face downwards; she went up to her, and stood silently by her side. At last she put out her hand and softly smoothed her hair.

Ada took no notice whatever of her touch; and Nellie left the room to go downstairs, the heavy feeling at her heart intensified by being unable to give any consolation.

Nellie had been called into her father's study, and had received instructions, which had seemed to seal her desolation.

To arrange for dresses without consulting her mamma, brought overwhelmingly to her mind the extent of her loss. But there was no time to dwell on it. She felt the only thing to be done was to go through each duty as it came up, without thinking of anything beyond it.

Arthur hung about by her side, anxious to solace her if it might be possible, going backwards and forwards to the nursery, and ready to help her in any way. He loved to dwell on all the details of his dear mother's death; and Nellie and he, and little Tom, found comfort in recalling her loving life, and peaceful end.

After breakfast, Dr. Arundel took his children in to kiss their mother. Nellie brought the baby, and guided the little hands to place some white flowers on the bed, and then she had drawn them away, and left their father alone with his dead.

Ada did not move from her position on the bed, and as the morning wore away, Nellie began to feel anxious about her. She went in once and covered her over with a shawl, but received no word from the poor heart-broken girl. She asked their father what was to be done for her, and he said, "Let her alone, dear."

So the long morning passed slowly away.

It was nearly dinner-time when Nellie once more re-entered their room.

Ada did not seem to have moved, and Nellie busied herself with her toilet, anxiously considering what she ought to do. At last she went to her side, and said very low, "Dear Ada, you will try to come down to dinner?"

Ada moved slightly and moaned.

"It is so sad for papa," resumed Nellie.

"I can't," answered Ada.

"We ought to try to do all we can for papa," persisted Nellie.

"Oh, let me be, Nellie!" irritably exclaimed the miserable girl. "I must be let alone. I cannot bear it."

"Very well, dearest; I will not trouble you any more." She stooped and kissed the sad, hopeless face, and went downstairs.

As she passed the nursery, Isabel peeped out. "Nellie, can't you find us anything to do?" she said, whispering; "we are so miserable, and nurse doesn't like us to play."

Nellie entered, and found the nurse—whose eyes were swollen with crying—holding the baby on her lap, and rocking him backwards and forwards in the most forlorn way.

"Poor dear children," she said, speaking in a hushed voice; "we must find something to do. Supposing I bring you some work that I have ready cut-out for the missionary basket?"

Mary looked surprised. "Oh, Miss Nellie," she said, "how can they bear to?"

"Mamma would have wished them to be employed," answered Nellie, gravely and firmly; "she would have been so sorry for them, Mary."

Mary burst into tears, and hugged the baby, while Nellie went for the work.

"You can think and talk of where dear mamma is, darlings, just the same," she said when she came back. "And all the better that you are carrying out one of her wishes, to see the basket filled."

The little girls looked up comforted, and she continued, "We cannot but be sad for many a long day, but we must all try to be busy in doing what she would wish us; must we not, darlings?"

"Can I have some work?" asked Dolly, "to help mamma's basket?"

"Yes; there is some just right for you; see."

And so it was called from that time "Mamma's Basket."