d to her side with eager question or exclamation. She drew
the little one with a quick, earnest clasp to her heaving bosom. Her
tremulous lips refused to obey the impulse of her will; she left
Edward's question unanswered, and abruptly placing Willie in the arms of
his careful nurse, she rushed away from the gladness she could not bear,
to the solitude of her own chamber. There she fell upon her knees and
covered her face, while the storm of sorrow she had striven so hard to
stem, swept over her. Amid groans of agony, came forth the low
murmur--"'Write his children _fatherless_, and his wife a _widow_!' Oh,
my God, why must this be? _His_ children fatherless, _his_ wife a
widow!"

Soon came the quick sobs which told that the overcharged heart which had
seemed ready to burst, had found temporary relief in tears; then
followed the low moans of calmer endurance, and the widow's heart sunk
back into all it had yet found of peace under this great bereavement,
though it had been months since the blow fell; the peace of
submission--"Not my will, but thine, O God, be done!" This time it
expressed itself in the quaint words of Herbert;

"Do thou thy holy will;--
_I will lie still_."

Then came the mother's habitual recollection of her children. They must
not bear the weight of this great sorrow in the days of their tender
youth, lest the hopefulness and energy they would certainly need in
after life should be discouraged and disheartened out of them. Edward is
naturally too reflective; he dwells too much on his loss, and evidently
begins to ponder already how so many children are to be taken care of
without a father. Sensitive Mary feels too deeply the shadow of the
cloud which has come over her home; her face reflects back her mother's
sadness.

So, rising, the mother rang the bell, and gave directions that the
children should be prepared for a visit to their grandfather's, and
that the sleigh should be brought to the door.

"They must go," thought she, "I cannot bear them about me. I must spend
this day alone;" and she bade Mary replenish the fire, and seated
herself in the arm-chair by the window. What a sickness fell upon the
sad heart as the eye roved over the cheerful winter landscape! Here were
the hurryings to and fro of congratulation, the gay garments, such as
she and hers had laid aside, the merry chiming of the many-toned
sleigh-bells, all so familiar to her ear that she knew who was passing,
even if she h