The first red streaks of
dawn shone in the east, and his dim eyes brightened at the sight;
"Such a beautiful world!" he whispered with the ghost of a smile,
"and so much good work to do in it, I wish I could stay and help a
little longer," he added, while the shadow deepened on his face. But
soon he said, trying to press Christie's hand, still holding his:
"You will do my part, and do it better than I could. Don't mourn,
dear heart, but work; and by and by you will be comforted."
"DON'T MOURN, DEAR HEART, BUT WORK."
"I will try; but I think I shall soon follow you, and need no
comfort here," answered Christie, already finding consolation in the
thought. "What is it, David?" she asked a little later, as she saw
his eyes turn wistfully toward the window where the rosy glow was
slowly creeping up the sky.
"I want to see the sun rise;--that used to be our happy time;--turn
my face toward the light, Christie, and we'll wait for it together."
An hour later when the first pale ray crept in at the low window,
two faces lay upon the pillow; one full of the despairing grief for
which there seems no balm; the other with lips and eyes of solemn
peace, and that mysterious expression, lovelier than any smile,
which death leaves as a tender token that all is well with the
new-born soul.
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