'"
"Ah," said Constance, "if there was only more of such religion in
the world!"
"It would be a happier world than it is," I answered.
"By the impress of a life like hers, what lasting good is done!"
said my wife. "Such are the salt of the earth. Cities set upon
hills. Lights in candlesticks. They live not in vain!'"
I did not see Blanche until the day of burial. Her beautiful face
was calm, but very pale. It bore strongly the impress of sorrow, but
not of that hopeless sorrow which we so often see on these mournful
occasions. It was very plain that her thoughts were not lingering
around the shrouded and coffined form of what was once her mother's
body, but were following her into the world beyond our mortal
vision, as we follow a dear friend who has gone from us on a long
journey.
And thus it was that Blanche Montgomery entered upon her new life.
Death's shadow fell upon the torch of Hymen. There was a rain of
grief just as the sun of love poured forth his brightest beams, and
the bow which spanned the horizon gave, in that hour of grief, sweet
promise for the future.
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