It was a light as sweet and beautiful as
her own life had been, but now it paled and faded--brightened
again--flickered a moment--and then went out forever.
The sad sound of children weeping broke the silence of the
death-chamber. Edward still knelt, and Rose was bowed with grief; but
the old Commodore's courageous voice sounded as though wrung from the
depths of his sorely-stricken heart:
"The Lord gave, and the Lord--" his tongue failed him, but after a
momentary struggle he continued in shaking tones--"and the Lord taketh
away. _Blessed_--"
He could say no more.
Surely the blessing that, for choking sobs, could not find utterance
on earth, was heard in heaven, and abundantly returned upon the brave
and desolate spirit of him who strove to pronounce it.
CHAPTER II.
AN UPPER CANADIAN HOUSEHOLD.
The breakfast-room of Pine Towers, on a bright, sunny morning, some
three or four days after the death of its much-respected mistress,
held a large concourse of the notables of York, and other private and
official gentry of the Province. They had come to take part, on the
previous day, in the funeral obsequies; and were now, after a night's
rest and bountiful morning repast, about to return to the Capital.
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