“Nora, I shall look up from my loom and see your little wheel standing still—­and where the spinner?  I shall sit down to my solitary meals and see your vacant chair—­and where my companion?  I shall wake in the dark night and stretch out my arms to your empty place beside me—­and where my warm loving sister?  In the grave! in the cold, dark, still grave!

“Oh, Heaven!  Heaven! how can I bear it?—­I, all day in the lonely house! all night in the lonely bed! all my life in the lonely world! the black, freezing, desolate world! and she in her grave!  I cannot bear it!  Oh, no, I cannot bear it!  Angels in heaven, you know that I cannot!  Speak to the Lord, and ask him to take me!

“Lord, Lord, please to take me along with my child.  We were but two! two orphan sisters!  I have grown gray in taking care of her!  She cannot do without me, nor I without her!  We were but two!  Why should one be taken and the other left?  It is not fair, Lord!  I say it is not fair!” raved the mourner, in that blind and passionate abandonment of grief which is sure at its climax to reach frenzy, and break into open rebellion against Omnipotent Power.

And it is well for us that the Father is more merciful than our tenderest thoughts, for he pardons the rebel and heals his wounds.

The sorrow of the young man, deepened by remorse, was too profound for such outward vent.  He leaned against the bedpost, seemingly colder, paler, and more lifeless than the dead body before him.

At length the tempest of Hannah’s grief raged itself into temporary rest.  She arose, composed the form of her sister, and turned and laid her hand upon the shoulder of Herman, saying calmly: 

“It is all over.  Go, young gentleman, and wrestle with your sorrow and your remorse, as you may.  Such wrestlings will be the only punishment your rashness will receive in this world!  Be free of dread from me.  She left you her forgiveness as a legacy, and you are sacred from my pursuit.  Go, and leave me with my dead.”

Herman dropped upon his knees beside the bed of death, took the cold hand of Nora between his own, and bowed his head upon it for a little while in penitential homage, and then arose and silently left the hut.

After he had gone, Hannah remained for a few minutes standing where he had left her, gazing in silent anguish upon the dark eyes of Nora, now glazed in death, and then, with reverential tenderness, she pressed down the white lids, closing them until the light of the resurrection morning should open them again.

While engaged in this holy duty, Hannah was interrupted by the re-entrance of Herman.

He came in tottering, as if under the influence of intoxication; but we all know that excessive sorrow takes away the strength and senses as surely as intoxication does.  There is such a state as being drunken with grief when we have drained the bitter cup dry!

“Hannah,” he faltered, “there are some things which should be remembered even in this awful hour.”