even now, seems confused in my mind. It seems as if there was a
sudden transition from the most brilliant, joyous health, to a brief
but fearful struggle for life, speedily followed by the awful mystery
and stillness of death. Is it possible, I still ask myself, that four
short days wrought an event whose consequences must run through
endless years ?-- Poor mother! Poor Helen!-When it was all over, I
do not know what to say of mother but that she behaved and quieted
herself like a weaned child. Her sweet composure awed me; I dared
not give way to my own vehement, terrible sorrow; in the presence of
this Christ-like patience, all noisy demonstrations seemed profane. I
thought no human being was less selfish, more loving than she had
been for many years, but the spirit that now took possession of her
flowed into her heart and life directly from that great Heart of
love, whose depth I had never even begun to sound. There was,
therefore, something absolutely divine in her aspect, in the tones of
her voice, in the very smile on her face. We could compare its
expression to nothing but Stephen, when he, being full of the Holy
Ghost, looked up steadfastly to heaven and saw the glory of God, and
Jesus standing on the right hand of God. As soon as James was gone
Helen came to our home; there was never any discussion about it, she
came naturally to be one of us. Mother's health, already very frail,
gradually failed, and encompassed as I was with cares, I could not be
with her constantly. Helen took the place to her of a daughter, and
found herself welcomed like one. The atmosphere in which we all lived
was one which cannot be described; the love for all of us and for
every living thing that flowed in mother's words and tones passed all
knowledge. The children's little joys and sorrows interested her
exactly as if she was one of themselves; they ran to her with every
petty grievance, and every new pleasure. During the time she lived
with us she had won many warm friends, particularly among the poor