Donal was
to Arctura, she said, father, brother, husband, in one. Through him
she had reaped the harvest of the world, in spite of falsehood,
murder, fear, and distrust! She lay victorious on the battlefield!
In the heart of her bridegroom reigned a peace the world could not
give or take away. He loved with a love that cast the love of former
days into the shadow of a sweet but undesired remembrance. A long
twilight life lay before him, but he would have plenty to do! and
such was the love between him and Arctura, that every doing of the
will of God was as the tying of a fresh bond between him and her:
she was his because they were the Father's, whose will was the life
and bond of the universe.
"I think," said Donal, that same night by her bed, "when my mother
dies, she will go near you: I will, if I can, send you a message by
her. But it will not matter; it can only tell you what you will know
well enough--that I love you, and am waiting to come to you."
The stupidity of calling oneself a Christian, and doubting if we
shall know our friends hereafter! In those who do not believe such a
doubt is more than natural, but in those who profess to believe, it
shows what a ragged scarecrow is the thing they call their
faith--not worth that of many an old Jew, or that of here and there
a pagan!
"I shall not be far from you, dear, I think--sometimes at least,"
she said, speaking very low.
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