For nothing less than that can save him now! His eyes see no longer; his
feet stumble in ignorance; he sleeps, and dreams of events which
happened--was it long ago?--upon this road. Here he met and talked with
Cornelia, that autumn day. Back there, they paused on the brow of the
hill, one moonlight night, was that so long ago, too? Here, some time in
the past, he had found a lifeless body in the snow, clad in a bridal
dress; here, he had caught a runaway horse by the head, and-He fell headlong to the ground. The shock partly awoke him. He struggled
up to his knees--was there any one assisting him?--another struggle--he
was on his feet. Right before him lay the house--the old Parsonage;
there were the gate, the path, the porch. He made a final effort--it
forced a deadly sweat from his forehead--and still there was a vague
sense of being supported and directed by some one--he could not stop to
see or question who; but, had it not been for that support, he must have
failed. The gate opened, with its old creak and rattle, before him; a
hand he saw not held it till he passed through.
Now, at the moment when he had fallen in the road, of the three who had
all along been awaiting him within--of these three, two only were left.
But, so quietly had the third departed, the others perceived not that
she was gone. The features, which remained, wore an expression of
angelic happiness. It was as she had wished.
At the same moment, too, through a rift in the dull sky, a little gleam
of sunshine--the first of that gray day--descended, and rested upon
Bressant. It accompanied him to the gate, and, still keeping close to
him, slipped up the path between the trees, and even followed him on to
the porch, where it brightened about him, as he put his hand to the
latch. Was it a symbol of some loving spirit, newly set free from its
mortal body, come to watch over him for evermore?
An old woman, who stood without clutching the palings of the gate, saw
Bressant open the door and pass inward, and the sunshine entered with
him. The door was left ajar--might she not enter too? Just then, a
little ormolu clock, on the mantel-piece inside, gave a preliminary
whirr, and hastily struck the hour of noon. As if in answer to a signal,
the sun smiled broadly forth, and quite transfigured the weather-beaten
old Parsonage.