A Rose in June

, slowly; “and yet somehow I cannot help thi

rbe

I myself am just what I always was; but I think the symptoms are ag

ceal from me that it is very serious; but oh, Herbert, how often ha

at the door of something unknown. Somehow it does not seem possible. One

at such a moment, and the thought wrung her heart. “Dearest,” she said, growing more tender in her grief and pity, “it is a thin

eling that I shall ever know anything about it; that I am no longer a free agent, but helpless, like a leaf blown into a corner by the wind—I wh

rbert?” she said, in a

ng to. I don’t know anything about it. Something is going to happen to me, of which I have not the least c

ffort to meet with dignity the unknown which was approaching; and his mind was at leisure to survey the strange, unexpected situation in which he found himself—going to die, without knowing what dying was, or how it would affect him, or where it would place him. I do not know, though he was a clergyman, that there was anything religious in the organization of his mind, and he had never come under any of those vivid influences which make men religious—or, at least, which make them fervent religionists—whatever may be the constitution of their mind. Mr. Damerel was no sceptic. He believed what he had been taught, and what he had taught in turn to others. His mind was not doctrinal or dogmatic, any more than it was devout; but he believed in the broad truths of Christianity, in some sort of a heaven, and some sort of a hell. These beliefs, however, had no effect upon his present state of feeling. He was not afraid of the hereafter; but his mind was bewildered and confounded by the contemplation of something close at hand which he did not know, and could not know so long as he retained co

tched about it. A thing that happens to every man cannot be so very bad; and, in the mean time

rciful,” said his wife, who

thought of what would follow in case of this happening which is about to happen. I ough

think of such

ly; but I fear you will find a difference. What a blessed thing that you are the sort of woman you are! T

er? Do not think of it. I would so mu

he will make her a very good husband. Do not let it be put off from any regard to me. He will be a great help to you; and you may trust him, I should think, to settle about the boys. Lay as much upon him

d! Perhaps your feeling is the right one.

possible in respect to one’s self; I am myself, you perceive, just as much{39} as ever; and yet to-morrow, perhaps, or next day—there’s the wonder. It makes one feel giddy now and the

u wish, that I might be guided by your own feeling, than to refer me to any one else!”

s ever, I think; but the boys are a troublesome subject. Leave it to Incledon;

g in him; but he was her husband, the first love of her youth, and her heart was rent asunder by this separation. She had enough to think of besides, had she been able; she had poverty to face, and to bring up her children as best she could in a world which henceforward would not be kind and soft to them as it had been hitherto. Her so

mpression of painfulness in them, rather than pain itself; wonder, curiosity, and that strange sense of an absolute blank which makes the soul giddy and the brain swim. Sometimes his mind seemed to himself to wander, and he got ast

t, with breaks of daffodil light melting into ineffable soft greenness and blueness, shone in through the uncurtained window which he liked to have left so, that he might see the sky. Rose and her mother were close by the bright circle made by the lamp, one of them preparing so

in the thought that he was going away shortly and would see them no more. He fell to thinking of a thousand things as he lay there watching them, yet not watching them. Not the things, perhaps, that a dying man ought to think of; little nothings, chance words that he had forgotten for years, lines of poetry, somehow connected with his present condition, though he did not remember the links of connection. “The casement slowly grows, a glittering square,” he said to himself,

dumb forgetf

anxious being

precincts of t

onging, linger

not my feeling; the rest is very true. Gray does not get half justice nowadays. How it satisfie

er stayed behind, not able to speak; but the girl,

here is a coldness and blackness that might chime in with the words. But the rest is true, ‘the

bed,” said wistful Rose, th

cold—not yet; I suppose I shall be presently. Is your mother there? My dear, help me wit

s wife, heart-broken. What coul

greeable to think of it. What! I have I more medicine to take? What does Marsden mean by sending me his detestable co

Mrs. Damerel. “The doctor thought

would be worth trying; even that would be too much trouble for the good. It wo

feel worse

ng more. I wish I could but tell you, after, what sort of a thing it was. Sit down by me,

me to this—think of yourself, think where you are going—to God

I know the way of life.” This he said with a momentary seriousness which was quite exceptional. Then he added, in the musing tone which to his anxious watchers seemed almost a gentle delirium, “But think, my dear! to be sent even into a new place,

ftly out to meet him, and almost dropped into the kind man’s arms in her exhaustion and excitement. “He is talking so very strangely,” she said, the tears runn

her, smoothing her pretty{41} hair, with unco

, do cry, poor child, it will do you g

led in her mind, till it seemed unable to contain so much emotion. She sat and listened to the low voices in the next room, and watched the side gleam of light which came from the half-open door. The very world seemed hushed while this drama came to its conclusion, and there was not a sound without or within but the soft

ittle more cheerily! I never thought much about dying people before; and mind what I say, Nolan, because it is your work. Of course, to those who have never thought about such matters before, religion is all-important; but there’s more in it than that.

somehow dissipated, intoxicated by the approach of the unknown. He could think of nothing else. A certain levity even mingled in his excitement. He asked questions almost with eagerness—questions no one could answer—about the accessories of death. He was curious beyond description about all that he would have to go through. “What a pity that I shall never be able to tell you what it is, and how I l

curate accompanied him to the door. He had just given it as his opinion that his patient could

e has never taken much t

ch possession of his faculties, so near—Speak to him, Nolan. He knows exactly how things are, and n

ht have sounded unkind to a dying man; and then he asked abruptly, “Do you find, in your

they are. Self gets the upper hand. It is all Nature c

ng, with a heavy heart, on the living and on the dying. It was a lovely starlight night, soft and shadowy, but with a brisk little questioning air which kept the leaves a-rustle. Mr. Nolan shive