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.