THE long blue and gold drawing-room in Albert Square lay in the deep and dreary shadow of a winter's twilight.
The blinds were not drawn down, and branches of trees in the garden opposite looked bare and desolate, distinctly penciled against the leaden sky.
Coming in from the clearer light outside, you would at first hardy distinguish the figures in the room, but after a minute the firelight reveals them.
Lady L'Estrange is seated at the piano with Geraldine on her lap, and Lord L'Estrange has drawn his chair to the fire and sits moodily watching the quivering flame.
“Play that again, mamma," said the child, as the last chord was struck of one of Beethoven's beautiful andantes;" and the song you sang last night—I like that best of all."
No one spoke, and the full, clear note, though trembling at first, rose and filled the room.
Lord L'Estrange got up with a troubled face, and taking Geraldine in his arms, paced up and down the room.
“Dear papa," she whispered, “how good of you to carry me so much. I am so tired now. Am I very heavy?"
He tried to think she was not lighter since the return home from the seaside six months ago, and answered hurriedly, “No, dear; hush! listen to mamma! "
But he felt his little daughter had grown strangely dear to him of late, and hardly dared ask himself why.
And long, long afterward he remembered the evening when they were all together in that room for the last time; for after this, Geraldine was well content to lie in her little cot, weary and quiet, too weak to care to be dressed or be brought downstairs.
She would look up with a quiet smile when her father came into the room; and often, wrapped in a warm shawl, she would lie in his arms while he paced the room with her, till Geraldine thought papa must be tired; or sometimes, when hot and feverish, she would rest in her mother's lap till the rich, soft tones lulled her into slumber.
Katie came every fine day, and moved about very softly, speaking gentle, loving words.
But Geraldine had become worse so very gradually that Katie did not realize that her little friend was slipping away from earth, though Mrs. Gray would try by gentle hints to awaken her to the sad reality.
Sometimes Geraldine would brighten up and ask to play with Katie; the dolls were produced and little scales to weigh dried fruit in, but the game did not last long, and poor Katie, with a puzzled face, would watch her push away the toys as the weary little head again sought the pillow.
The days rolled on, and the pink flush deepened on Geraldine's cheeks, greatly adding to her natural loveliness, but it was a brightness that foretold much.
Dr. Gray looked graver each time he saw her, and at last was obliged to acknowledge that nothing more could be done.
One day, some weeks later, Geraldine opened her eyes and saw Barbara sitting by her side. The child did not seem surprised, but raised her head and nestled it close to her friend, saying, “Tell me about Silversands. Where is Bonnie? "
As Barbara answered her different questions, Geraldine looked earnestly at her with such a longing gaze that Barbara bent over her to hide the feelings that were mastering her at the sight of the change in the lovely face since she had seen it last.
Geraldine saw the movement and looking up quickly, said, “I’m very tired now; I cannot run about as I did at Silversands." Then after pausing for a moment, she added, “Do you think I shall die, Barbara?"
Barbara commanded her voice with an effort and then softly said, “The Good Shepherd is watching over you, darling. Is my little Geraldine afraid to go and live with Jesus? He wants all His children to go and live with Him, and says ‘Suffer little children to come unto Me.'"
There was a silence for two or three minutes, and Barbara lifted up her heart to God; then Geraldine spoke again:
“I asked Jesus to make me one of His own lambs. Do you think He heard when I told Him that?"
“Yes, dear," answered Barbara, "for He never turns anyone away, but says to each, ‘Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.' Do you remember that verse in one of your favorite hymns, beginning—
"‘Teach us, O God, to fix our eyes
On Christ, the spotless Lamb?'
“Who is the Lamb of God, darling?"
“Jesus," said the child. “Has He forgiven my sins?"
“If you believe in Him, dear," replied Barbara.
“I believe in Him, because I love Him," said the child, simply.
“Come unto Me, and I will give thee rest," was all Barbara could murmur through her tears; then she repeated softly—
“How came they to that world above—
That heaven so bright and fair,
Where all is peace, and joy, and love;
How came those children there,
Singing glory, glory, glory?
“Because the Savior gave His blood,
To wash away their sins;
Bathed in that pure and precious flood,
Behold them white and clean
Singing glory, glory, glory.
Barbara could see by the movement of the child's lips that she was following every word and when the verses were concluded, Geraldine said, “All the children that belong to Jesus have their names written in His book."
“Oh yes! in the Lamb's book of life; and yours is there, my darling," replied Barbara.
A sweet, restful look stole over the little face, as if with that word eternal peace descended on it forever.
Barbara opened her small Testament, saying, "I am going to read you something about heaven and those ‘who have washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve Him day and night in His temple and He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.'"
“That is like my hymn," said Geraldine—
“There is a happy land,
Far, far away;
Where saints in glory stand,
Bright, bright as day."
And as if pondering what she had heard, the child lay perfectly still and looked at Barbara.
Then all was quiet in the room, for Geraldine sank gently to sleep.
Barbara, afraid of waking her, did not move, but lifted up her heart in thankfulness to God. For it was thankfulness she felt as well as grief; she knew now that though her darling was passing away from her, it was to rest forever on the Savior's breast.
Lady L'Estrange had written to Silver-sands, begging Barbara to come; for every day Geraldine would talk of the happy visit there, and seemed to be longing to see her friend again.
Deep and impressive was the calm that Barbara, the gentle comforter, brought into that house; it was felt wherever her presence was.