“You will return by to-morrow,” said Miss Weston, as she parted with Dawn at the gate, supposing that she designed returning to be present at the funeral.

“No, I cannot.”

“Why, Dawn! not follow dear Ralph to his grave?”

“I have no Ralph to bury.  He is resurrected-gone higher.”

“But the family, they surely-”

“They will not miss me.  I am not a part of their lives now.  They do not know me, nor do I know myself.”

Here trust, light, and vision left; the weakness of flesh uprose, and she went down into the dark valley of grief.

She gave a parting pressure of the hand to her friend, and walked slowly to the station.  Alone; O, what relief do our tears give us, when no one can see them flow.  In that dim, summer twilight she walked.  Fast fell the tears over her cheeks.  None but angels knew the sobs, the agony of desolation which swept over her, and like a pall hung between herself and heaven.

It was midnight when she arose from prayer, but morning to her soul.  Peace had come; the dove had returned with the olive branch; the waters had gone down, and green banks shored the wild sea of sorrow.

She spent the day of the funeral ceremonies alone in the solitude of the woods.  Full of meaning now came to her these words of Christ:  “Let the dead bury their dead;” and this was her first personal realization of the truth.  Alone, yet not alone.  That presence, unseen, but real, was with her, soothing the harshness of sorrow, filling her heart with peace and comfort.  Just as the sun sank in clouds of sapphire and crimson, his form stood, radiant, joyous, and life-like before her.  It was no myth, no hallucination of the mind.  Close, within reach, yet she could not touch him; he stood there, the same Ralph, with all the tenderness of love on his beaming face which he bore in life.  No loneliness came over her as the vision faded slowly away; he seemed to dissolve and flow into her heart.  The soft twilight, the singing of birds, and charming landscape, with the breath of summer floating on the air, came like sweet accompaniments to the melody which was pulsing her being, and giving her new strength and vigor for life.

She knew, that to her Ralph would each day be a sustaining power, and give life a dual action.  When weary of the outer, she could turn within and find one conjoined by the holiest of ties unto her soul.

His life, too, was being unfolded through her, as it could never have been on earth; and as years rolled on she saw how well and good it was that he had passed on before her.  There was more completeness to her being than there could possibly have been, had they been united on earth by the form of marriage.

When she emerged from the cloud, all this light transfused her being, and she had no tears, because there was no separation.

CHAPTER XXIX.