THE
STORY
OF
MAGGI E.
51
been sick, but was better. She wanted to get home, she wrote, to let them all see, father and all, how much better she was, how happy she was. She was so happy she could not express it in words, if she tried all the rest of the days of her life; but they should all see, father and all, father above all, how she loved them, how she loved the Father of the whole universe, and how happy she was.
Knowing that her last letter from her home, and especially the long silence since, had made her brother Herbert uneasy about her, she wrote to him, a long, loving letter, telling him what hope she felt for their poor father, and for everybody; urging him to take a great deal of pains to be kind to such as had lost their way, and had none to help them find it.
CHAPTER XV.
“Sue looks like death. I declare, she does look like death; but I don’t like to wake her and see what it is.”
So, on the following morning, muttered old aunt Hester, slowly shaking her head, slowly going about to prepare her and Maggie’s break- fast. “If I know what death looks like, and I guess Ido. Oh! but what is your mistress trou- bling her old head about, puss? Puss, wiser- headed than her mistress!”
She could not, however, resist the inclination she felt to go softly, every few minutes, to look at the young girl sleeping with such heavy rings round her eyes, with eyes so sunken, mouth and cheeks so drawn.
At last she moaned, and with difficulty and agitation waked out of her heavy slumber.
In reply to aunt Hester’s inquiries, she could only look up piteously, heavy-eyed, drawing, hard breaths, saying, ‘Oh! I don’t know. I don’t know what does ail me, aunt Hester. You mustn’t be frightened; but I do feel so—so sad. I never in all my life felt so sad—never, never! It aches so here, aunt Hester!” tremblingly rub- bing her heart with her finger-points; ‘and you know how happy I was last night. I thought it was going to last forever; but it is gone; God is gone—I can’t find him; he is gone—gone.”
And then once again rose that cry, heard eighteen hundred years ago on Calvary—heard many times since, “‘ My God, why hast thou for- saken me? If—if——” if mother was here, if father, and Anna, and Herbert, were here, she was going to say; but afraid of alarming, or, in Some way, wounding aunt Hester, she sup- Pressed the utterance, and felt the longing settle back on her heart, as it were, a great load, hard, indeed, in her weak, dark state to bear.
But aunt Hester read the wish and the heart- ache. Arranging her pillows so as to bring her head higher; she patted her cheek, was shocked to find how cold and rigid it felt; covered the great fear with a pleasant smile, a pleasant, “There, you dear! you patient darling! Let me go into the kitchen a moment.”
Now in Maggie’s former visits at aunt IHes- ter’s, she had seen Mr. and Mrs. Brown at church; and from aunt Hester’s windows and garden, through the trees and beautifully- flowering shrubs, and in the walks of the Browns’ yard, had seen the good, choerful pa- rents sitting in the piazzas, or under the trees, reading, or talking, and often looking to see what the children were doing; had seen the children, beautiful fairies! running up to them with some wonderful pebble, or bit of moss, or to drag them by their fingers, or skirts, to see some flower, some butterfly, or, perhaps, some worm or bug, exquisitely colored; or, while the mother sat plying her faithful needle, had seen the father with the children at play, with ring, ball, kite, or shuttlecock; and had heard him say to her, ‘Come, Brownie—Effie, leave off pricking your fingers, and come and play with us wise-heads;” had seen her come, perhaps; had heard her voice, so beautiful in speaking to him, or to the children; and had said to her- self and to aunt Hester that she was an angel. Since she came this time, looking to see her go out through her gate, she had, with tears in her eyes half-blinding their sight, said that she looked like a good angel; that if she was alone in the world, without a friend to go to, she. would go to Mrs. Brown and tell her all, and be comforted by her.
Remembering it, and herself sharing Maggie's excellent opinion of her neighbor, aunt Hester threw on hood and shawl, and hurried across to bring her; and she came.
Looking into the poor girl’s large, troubled eyes with her large, calm, inspired ones, she saw Maggie settle at once into peace. Her eyes no more wandered or shone with half-delirium. She did not weep—tears were not for her, lying there at such ending of her earthly life;about to cross over to the other side, where she would meet her God, her Saviour. Ah, yes! there again was ‘‘the name above all other names,” the dear name, that brought the sudden rain of tears to put out the fires of remorse and dread. He, on the cross, tortured, forsaken, crying out in His great agony that brought the sweat, as it were great drops of blood—was not He the one
