Enshrined is her memory within the hearts of all who knew and
loved her, while away to the northward where the cypress and
willow mark the resting-place of Shannondale's dead, a costly
marble rears its graceful column, pointing far upward to the sky,
the home of her whose name that marble bears. "NINA." That is all.
No laudations deeply cut tell what she was or where she died.
"NINA." Nothing more. And yet this single word has a power to
touch the deepest, tenderest feeling of two hearts at least,
Arthur's and Edith's--speaking to them of the little golden-haired
girl who crossed so innocently their pathway, striving hard to
efface all prints of her footsteps, caring to the last for her
"Arthur boy" and the "Miggie" she loved so well, and calling to
them as it were, even after the rolling river was safely forded,
and she was landed beside the still waters in the bright, green
fields of Eden.
And now to the sweet little girl and the noble man who, through
the mazy labyrinths of Darkness and of Daylight, have grown so
strongly into our love, whose faces were familiar as our own,
whose names were household words, over whose sorrows our tears
have fallen like rain, and in whose joys we have rejoiced, we bid
a final adieu.
Pages:
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619