"Let not your heart be troubled," he seemed to
be saying, "although I die, and go out of your sight. It is all
well. Take my word for it."
She rose, wiped her eyes, looked up, said, "I will try, Lord,"
and, going down, called Beenie, and sent her to ask Mr. Turnbull
to speak with her. She knew her father's ideas, and must do her
endeavor to have the funeral as simple as possible. It was a
relief to have something, anything, to do in his name.
Mr. Turnbull came, and the coarse man was kind. It went not a
little against the grain with him to order what he called a
pauper's funeral for the junior partner in the firm; but, more
desirous than ever to conciliate Mary, he promised all that she
wished.
"Marston was but a poor-spirited fellow," he said to his wife
when he told her; "the thing is a disgrace to the shop, but it's
fit enough for him.--It will be so much money saved," he added in
self-consolation, while his wife turned up her nose, as she
always did at any mention of the shop.
Mary returned to her father's room, now silent again with the air
of that which is not. She took from the table the old silver
watch. It went on measuring the time by a scale now useless to
its owner. She placed it lovingly in her bosom, and sat down by
the bedside. Already, through love, sorrow, and obedience, she
began to find herself drawing nearer to him than she had ever
been before; already she was able to recall his last words, and
strengthen her resolve to keep them.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152