Not once or twice, but many times, during the night Aunt Delia stole in to comfort him; her heart, too, was very near to breaking, but she had learned to say, “Thy will be done,” and her sweet wrinkled face, on which were the traces of recent tears, wore a look of peace and resignation which Lord Ashden observed with wonder.
“Why should God punish us in this way?” he said once, and his companion laid her fingers gently on the rebellious lips.
“Hush!” she said; “do not say that, dear friend; when, three years ago (it seems but yesterday), you came to us and asked that you might take Philip to Italy, it was very hard to give him up, yet his uncle and I knew that it was for the boy’s best good; we said ‘Go’ when our hearts were murmuring ‘Stay.’ Would it not have been selfish to have kept our Philip by our side in the narrow circle of our love and care, when before him lay the chance of the life of Italy and the musical training which he so needed and wished for? And now, dear, dear friend, think a moment; may it not be something the same way now? Surely our Heavenly Father knows what is best for our darling, when He would take him from our clinging arms into the fuller life of light and love.”
She paused and laid her hand with the most caressing tenderness upon the bowed head of her companion.
“You will be brave, I know, dear heart,” she whispered. “God bless and help you.”
A few hours later the whole family were gathered in a sorrowful group around Philip’s bed. The end was very near, the doctor said, and the boy had asked to see them, calling for each one by name. He looked about upon the familiar faces, his own shining with love and peace, and there was no trace of fear or even of regret in his calm, clear eyes. Strangely enough, it was Marion’s name which he spoke first, and he tried to hold out his hand, stiff and heavy with bandages, as she knelt sobbing beside his pillow. “Why do you cry?” he asked wonderingly. “Not for me, surely, dear cousin; there is no pain now, you know.”
“Oh, Philip, Philip,” cried the girl, “forgive me! Only say that you forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive, dear Marion,” replied the boy; “I love you very much; you will not forget that I said so, will you, dear?” And Miss Acton gently led the weeping girl from the room.