Mr.
Reginald were that fond of flowers."
I made no answer. Bitterly ached my heart to think of that dear and
noble face buried out of sight; the familiar countenance that should
light up no more at the sight of me and Sweep. "He looks so happy," I
muttered, almost jealously. Alathea laid her hand upon my arm.
"Them that sleeps in Jesus rests well, my dear. And, as I said to
Master Jonathan this morning, it ain't fit to overbegrudge them 'ats
gone Home."
I think it was the naming of that Name, in which alone we vanquish the
bitter victories of death, that recalled the verse which had been
floating in my head ever since that evening at the Rectory:
"Jesu, spes poenitentibus,
Quam pius es petentibus!
Quam bonus te quaerentibus!
_Sed quid invenientibus_!"
The loneliness of my childhood had given me a habit of talking to
myself. I did not know that I had quoted that verse of the old hymn
aloud, till I discovered the fact from hearing afterwards, to my no
small surprise, that Betty had reported that I "made a beautiful
prayer over the corpse."
* * * * *
The grim and hideous pomp of the funeral was most oppressive, though
in the abundance of plumes and mutes Mr.
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