XIII.

Summon’d at last:  she kisses
The clay-cold stiffening hand;
And, reading pleading efforts
To make her understand,
Answers, with solemn promise,
In clear but trembling tone,
To Dora’s life henceforward
She will devote her own.

XIV.

Now all is over.  Bertha
Dares not remain to weep,
But soothes the frightened Dora
Into a sobbing sleep. 
The poor weak child will need her: 
O, who can dare complain,
When God sends a new Duty
To comfort each new Pain!

NUMBER THREE.

I.

The House is all deserted
In the dim evening gloom,
Only one figure passes
Slowly from room to room;
And, pausing at each doorway,
Seems gathering up again
Within her heart the relics
Of bygone joy and pain.

II.

There is an earnest longing
In those who onward gaze,
Looking with weary patience
Towards the coming days. 
There is a deeper longing,
More sad, more strong, more keen: 
Those know it who look backward,
And yearn for what has been.

III.

At every hearth she pauses,
Touches each well-known chair;
Gazes from every window,
Lingers on every stair. 
What have these months brought Bertha
Now one more year is past? 
This Christmas Eve shall tell us,
The third one and the last.

IV.

The wilful, wayward Dora,
In those first weeks of grief,
Could seek and find in Bertha
Strength, soothing, and relief. 
And Bertha—­last sad comfort
True woman-heart can take—­
Had something still to suffer
And do for Herbert’s sake.

V.

Spring, with her western breezes,
From Indian islands bore
To Bertha news that Leonard
Would seek his home once more. 
What was it—­joy, or sorrow? 
What were they—­hopes, or fears? 
That flush’d her cheeks with crimson,
And fill’d her eyes with tears?

VI.

He came.  And who so kindly
Could ask and hear her tell
Herbert’s last hours; for Leonard
Had known and loved him well. 
Daily he came; and Bertha,
Poor wear heart, at length,
Weigh’d down by other’s weakness,
Could rest upon his strength.

VII.

Yet not the voice of Leonard
Could her true care beguile,
That turn’d to watch, rejoicing,
Dora’s reviving smile. 
So, from that little household
The worst gloom pass’d away,
The one bright hour of evening
Lit up the livelong day.