Part 6.
The long blue-and-gold drawing room in Albert Square lay in the deep and dreary shadow of a winter twilight. 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. Lady L’Estrange was singing, and Lord L’Estrange got up, and taking Geraldine in his arms, paced up and down the room. He tried to think she was not lighter since the return from the sea six months before. But he felt his little daughter had grown strangely dear to him of late, and hardly dared to ask himself why.
And long, long afterwards 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 cot, too weak to care to be dressed, or be brought downstairs. Often she would lie in her father’s arms as he paced up and down, or rest in her mother’s lap till the rich, soft tones lulled her into slumber. Often Katie came, speaking loving words and looking puzzled as Geraldine would soon lie down, too weary to play, for she did not realize that her little friend was slipping away from earth.
The days rolled on, and the pink flush deepened on Geraldine’s cheek, greatly adding to her natural loveliness, but it was a brightness that foretold much. Dr. Gray was at last 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 nestled her head closer to her friend, saying, “Tell me about Silversands?” As Barbara answered the different questions she bent over her to hide the feelings that were mastering her at sight of the change in the lovely face.
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 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 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 any one away, but says to each poor sinner, ‘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 you rest,” was all that 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 Saviour shed 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 had 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.” (Rev. 7: 15-17; 21: 23.)
“That is like my hymn,” said Geraldine.
“There is a happy land,
Not far away;
Where saints in glory stand,
Bright, bright as day.”
And, as if pondering over 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 silently her prayer of thankfulness arose. 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 Saviour’s breast.
Deep and impressive was the calm that Barbara, the gentle comforter, brought into that house; it was felt wherever her presence was, for she seemed to dwell in an atmosphere of peace.
Lady L’Estrange would watch her moving about quietly, seeing this or that direction was attended to, creating a sunny brightness in the sick room; always ready for action without bustle; and as she watched, wished again and again for her hidden strength—wished until the wish became a prayer, and the prayer was answered.
Saviour, come, we long to see Thee,
Long to dwell with Thee above;
And to know in full communion,
All the sweetness of Thy love.
Come, Lord Jesus; come, Lord Jesus,
Take Thy waiting people home.
ML 02/13/1916