"Angels, sing on, your faithful watches keeping,Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above,Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping,And life's long shadows break in endless love."
"Angels, sing on, your faithful watches keeping,Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above,Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping,And life's long shadows break in endless love."
"Angels, sing on, your faithful watches keeping,Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above,Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping,And life's long shadows break in endless love."
"Angels, sing on, your faithful watches keeping,
Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above,
Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping,
And life's long shadows break in endless love."
Ella had the sweetest childish voice that one couldhear anywhere: yes, it was for this reason she had been chosen to form one of the angel-choir, and now as she came to the end of her verse, she sang out the chorus loud and clearly,—
"Angels of Jesus,Angels of light,Singing to welcomeThe pilgrims of night."
"Angels of Jesus,Angels of light,Singing to welcomeThe pilgrims of night."
"Angels of Jesus,Angels of light,Singing to welcomeThe pilgrims of night."
"Angels of Jesus,
Angels of light,
Singing to welcome
The pilgrims of night."
Ella did not quite understand what the words of the hymn meant, though her mother had given many long minutes to their explanation. She only knew they were about the good Lord Jesus, and she felt that they were words Violet would love to hear; so she sang them loud enough and clear enough for the sound to reach her ears were she awake.
But there was no stir in the oriel window except a burst of song from the canary opposite, behind whose cage the curtains of Violet's casement had been loosely folded; but the blind in the room next to hers was at this moment quickly drawn up, and Ella saw Evelina look out hurriedly into the street, and then withdraw as quickly behind the table. She was up early, too, and dressed already in a pretty white and blue muslin dress, which she was evidently trying on before the looking-glass, for Ella saw her take up some blue bows from the table and pin them on herdress, arranging them first in one place and then in another until she was satisfied with their effect.
Ella wondered that Evelina should be so smartly dressed at so early an hour; but she wondered still more when she saw her turn back a moment from the window and then reappear with a large Leghorn hat in her hand, covered with some pale blue flowers, and lined with a pretty light blue satin, the same colour as the ribbon bows upon her dress.
She turned it backwards and forwards for a few moments, picking up the blue flowers with her fingers, just here and there where they stuck too closely to the straw; and she bent the broad flap a little to one side, and pinned it up with much care; and then she placed it on her head, smiling a little and moving to and fro in front of the mirror. All at once she turned and walked away. Ella saw her hurriedly snap off the hat and throw it on the bed, and then move forward as if towards Violet's room. Ella watched for her to come back; but at last growing tired of waiting she lay down on her little bed, and, still humming the angels' chorus, she fell into a light sleep.
Before, however, she had quite wandered off into the land of dreams the door of her room opened again, and Fritz came in with flushed face and excited manner.
"It is all of no use," he cried, flinging his cap down at the foot of the bed. "I have seen the policeman, and he says it is no good for him to ask."
"And he will not even try?" asked Ella, opening her sleepy eyes.
"Oh yes, he will try. He has gone off now to see the colonel; but he knows it is all no use." Fritz sat down on the side of Ella's little cot, and suddenly burst out crying.
"I wish I had never told her anything about it," he said sobbing.
"Why, dear Fritz?" and Ella threw her fat arms round her brother's neck.
"That old cat Evelina told the policeman that since I had told Violet about the angels she has had no sleep and can eat nothing, and that in a few days she will be quite dead."
"Quite dead," echoed Ella mournfully; "and poor Fritz will never see her nor speak to her any more."
"Hush, Ella," cried Fritz, springing up from the bed angrily; "Fritz will see her again. Fritz will speak to Violet again. He will go this instant and ask the Lord Jesus this very day to make her quite well, to take all the sickness away from her; and the Lord Jesus must listen to Fritz this time, for he will go out on the very top of the house and call ever soloud, so loud that he must hear him." And Fritz, his face all quivering with the anguish of the moment, started up and rushed wildly out of the room; and Ella heard his feet ascending the little wooden ladder that led out among the nasturtiums and the red geraniums on to the red-tiled roof above.
It was still quite early when Evelina drew back the curtains in the oriel window and let in the rosy morning light.
A few moments before, Violet had startled her by a cry of joy, so keen and unmistakable that she had hurried from the inner room in her white muslin dress to the child's bedside, only to find her face pressed in against the pillow, around which her arms were tightly pressed.
"What is it? why didst thou call so?" she cried curiously as she stooped over the bed.
"O Evelina, the angels were singing to me!" said Violet, lifting up a face still wreathed in the happiest smiles. "Didst thou not hear them, Evelina? I knew the very words they said. And father, dear father, he was there with them in the meadow beside the hill; and he stretched out his hands to me and cried out so loud, 'To meet again,' that I screamed out with joy."
"Ah, that was indeed a lovely dream," said Evelina, stooping over the bed and kissing the little face still lighted up with the straggling beams of heavenly glory. "Go to sleep, dearest one, and perhaps thou mayest dream of the angels again."
"And dost thou know, Evelina, in that meadow beside the hill, where the flowers grow, my feet never touch the ground—never."
"Hush, little heart! go to sleep," she replied softly.
"And thou, Evelina, wilt thou not be an angel too? for thou art dressed in white, and thou art so lovely and so kind," said the little voice from among its pillows.
Evelina made no answer; her cheeks burned with a vivid red, and her heart gave loud throbs as she bent over the child and kissed her again passionately; then she turned and went back into the room. But her eyes were full of tears, and for many minutes afterwards she was restless and miserable, until at length she took off the white dress and laid it aside on the top of her trunk; and the hat with the blue forget-me-nots she hastily covered over with a handkerchief, and hid it away in the press.
"What is the boy doing up there?" she said suddenly as she looked up at the red tiles of the houseopposite. "Why, he is saying his prayers on the roof! Was ever anything so funny?"
When Violet did awake later on, she seemed to have forgotten all about her dream; she sighed heavily, and there were bright red spots on her cheeks. She watched all Evelina's movements with a kind of dull curiosity, but for a long time she made no effort to speak. At last she said, with a weak and somewhat complaining voice, "Evelina, why art thou making the room ready so early? That brush knocks so loudly against the chairs, and Violet's head is aching."
"I am up early because the whole town is up early," replied Evelina somewhat shortly; "and a room cannot be cleaned properly without brushing it."
"And why is the whole town up early—why, Evelina?"
"Why? of course thou knowest that this is the day of the grand procession, and one cannot be both inside of the house doing one's work and outside of it at the same time enjoying oneself."
"And art thou going out to see the angels?" asked Violet, fixing her eyes sorrowfully on the face of Evelina.
"That depends—I am not certain."
"But thou wouldst like it, wouldst thou not?"
"Yes, yes, of course."
"And will it be a long way off, down a far, far street?"
"No, no, quite close. They are to turn off at the fountain and go up by the cathedral."
"Then Violet will perhaps hear them singing," cried the child, raising herself on her elbow, and flushing all over a lovely carmine colour. "I have often heard the women singing at the fountain in the evening."
"Yes, I daresay."
"Ah, how Violet would love to stand, like other little children in the street, and see the beautiful angels with their wings." A deep, longing sigh followed this remark.
Evelina made no reply, and Violet still followed her movements wistfully with her eyes, till at last they fell upon the little carriage, which she was at this moment dusting, and which she presently pushed somewhat further back into the corner.
"Just as far as the fountain," pleaded Violet with quivering lips.
"No, no, it is impossible; for the greatest crowd of all will be just there. They are all to gather at the fountain, which is to be decked out with flowers; and the first chorus is to be sung beside it. To drag a carriage through such a multitude of people would be out of the question."
"But in thine arms, Evelina; couldst thou not take me such a little way in thine arms?"
"In my arms, dear love? who ever heard of such a thing?"
"Yes, yes, only to the fountain, to see the angels and to hear them sing."
"Thou askest me that which thou knowest well I cannot do," replied Evelina almost angrily. "The doctor would not hear of my taking thee out of thy bed to carry thee in my arms among such a lot of people. And besides, thou wouldst not like it thyself: other children would stare at thee, and say things, perhaps, which would hurt thee."
"What would they say, Evelina?"
"Ah, cruel things: children do not stop to pick their words."
"But what would they say?" pleaded Violet, her eyes opening wide and her cheeks flushing.
"They would, perhaps, point their fingers at thee and call thee names. Ah, I have heard such things often in the street. There are wicked children as well as good. I have seen them even throwing stones after little sick children."
"Yes," cried Violet, sitting up straight, and her eyes deepening to the purple shade which always came with some great mental excitement; "and thourememberest, Evelina, how one wicked boy threw a great heavy stone at a poor hunchback; and how God was watching, and when they would have thrown another the Lord Jesus laid his hand on the hunchback's shoulders, and out of them came two beautiful shining wings, and he flew straight up to heaven. Thou rememberest all this, Evelina?"
"Oh yes, I daresay," replied Evelina, who was down on her knees polishing the stove.
"But thou didst tell that very story to me."
"Well, and what then?"
"Then Violet is not afraid to go out in the streets; for the good Lord Jesus loves Violet very, very much, and if anything came to hurt her he would just give her wings, and she would fly away straight up to heaven."
For a moment Evelina's heart relented, as she looked up from the stove at those earnest eyes full of such a beseeching entreaty.
"Well, well, we can see when the time comes," she said quickly. "Lie down now, and don't talk about it any more. When I have done my work I will go and see the doctor and ask him; and if he says 'Yes,' why, then, we must arrange it somehow."
"Ah, thou best Evelina, how good thou art!" cried Violet, stretching out her arms gratefully. ButEvelina was perhaps too busy to notice the action. At any rate, she continued polishing the stove; and Violet, with eyes still darkly dilated with the wonder of some great but as yet unrealized joy, lay back upon her pillow, only saying to herself in a whisper, "Violet will see the angels and will hear them sing."
At eleven o'clock Evelina went out. She was some time away, and Violet watched with a beating heart for her return. At last she heard footsteps on the stairs; but Evelina, instead of entering the kitchen, went into her own room and shut the door.
Violet waited for a few minutes, and then called to her; but she received no answer. Evelina was walking hurriedly about the inside room, and did not hear her calling.
At last the door opened, and Evelina came in. She had on a white dress now—a white muslin dress, dotted over with pale-blue spots; and on her bosom there was fastened a bunch of forget-me-nots, and on the front of the dress there were also pale-blue bows the same colour as the flowers.
She looked so young and fresh, with her golden hair and her pretty smiling face, covered just now with a crimson blush, that Violet cried out involuntarily,—
"Oh how beautiful! how lovely! Hast thou seen the doctor?"
But Evelina only said hastily, as she looked at the bed, "How stupid of me! I have forgotten to dress the child."
"Then thouwilttake me? O dearest Evelina, thou art too good to Violet."
Evelina looked now really distressed. She came over and took the child's hot hands in hers, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"I have not seen the doctor," she said in a quick, nervous voice. "He was out, and had left no word where he was gone. I durst not take thee out on such a day without his leave. Although the sun is hot, there is a keen east wind blowing; so I will just run down to the fountain and have one look at the procession, and then come back to thee. I shall not be five minutes away, and thou shalt hear all about it when I return, and how Miss Ella looked, and how she sang; and then we shall have, oh such a feast when Evelina comes home—peaches and grapes which are in the next room waiting for us to eat them, and a cake covered with sugar, and a bunch of violets fastened on the top. And we shall have such fun; shall we not, thou little heart's love? And now Evelina will dress thee in thy little purple frock; and Miss Ella shall come back, wings and all, and have a share in our supper and our good things. And nowthou wilt not be an ungrateful little girl, when Evelina has done all this for thee? Ah, for shame! dry thine eyes, and let us have no more tears."
Violet drew her hand quickly out of Evelina's, and wiped away the tears which were flowing fast down her poor pale face; for was it not ungrateful and unkind of her to weep and fret when Evelina had been so good, and had bought for her such lovely things as grapes and peaches?
Evelina tied an apron over her new dress and began to comb out Violet's yellow locks. They did not glisten now so brightly as they used to do, for long sickness had dimmed their golden colour; but still, when tied up with the dark purple knot, they hung prettily enough over the cashmere dress, into the neck and sleeves of which Evelina had sewn clean, soft, white frills.
"There now! thou art quite lovely, quite charming!" cried Evelina, gazing at the little girl, whose lips still quivered with a suppressed excitement. "And see here! I will give thee some of my forget-me-nots, and thou shalt fasten them, so, on front of thy dress; and there will not be an angel in all the procession so fair as thee. Eh, little heart's darling, what sayest thou?"
Violet did not answer; she only lifted her eyes toEvelina's face, as if she wished to speak and could not.
"What is it? Is there anything more I can do for thee? for it is now on the stroke of twelve, and if I do not start at once I shall be late."
"Please, please, Evelina, take Violet in thine arms, only this once—such a little way to the fountain, such a short, short street—that Violet may see the angels and hear them sing."
"It is impossible," replied Evelina shortly, and growing very red. "But as thou art so determined to cry and to make a fuss, I will stay at home myself, and make an end of it all." And Evelina sat down on a chair, and tears came into her eyes.
"No, no!" cried Violet passionately; "thou must go, Evelina. Violet will cry no more. She will wait here quite quietly till thou comest back. Yes, go now; please go, Evelina, ever so fast; and when thou hast seen the beautiful angels at the fountain, thou wilt come back quickly to Violet."
Evelina rose up with averted face, and said, somewhat sullenly, "Well, as I am dressed, I suppose I may as well go; but after such a fuss and crying one cannot enjoy oneself very much."
She pushed the door of her own room open as she said this, and, going in, drew the bolt quickly acrossit. A minute or two later she opened the other door at the side of the landing, and began to descend the stairs.
"Evelina!" cried Violet after her piteously, "lift Violet first into the window. Evelina! Evelina! thou hast forgotten to put Violet into her chair!"
Evelina turned to answer the child's appeal; but suddenly remembering something, she paused and raised her hand to her head. "I cannot wait now to take it off, for it is all pinned to my hair," she said peevishly. "In any case, I shall be back directly." And so, turning a deaf ear to Violet's cries, she went down the stairs and out into the street.
Violet waited and listened until the last sound of Evelina's footsteps had died away, and then she fell into a sudden reverie. Her eyes remained fixed on the rails at the foot of her bed, and she neither moved nor spoke—only now and then a little shiver seemed to pass over her, and she sighed heavily, and her eyebrows were contracted with pain.
A sudden sense of great loneliness had come over her, and with it a swift remembrance of her dear mother, the mother who had been carried out through that very door by which Evelina had that moment passed out, and who had never returned to her any more. Ah, had she been here now, she would have listened to her cries; she would have carried her in her arms to the fountain. She would have lifted her up so tenderly, and held her tightly, oh so tightly to her breast; and together they would have listened to the angels singing.
And then again came the recollection of that dream, when the Lord Jesus had met her in the meadow, and had shown her the little lamb which he was carrying in his bosom—the little lamb with the white face, so like Violet. And she remembered the sound of his voice, as he said to her so softly, "See, she has fallen asleep, and I am going to lay her in her mother's arms."
Ah, if Violet could fall asleep like that poor tired lamb, and awake in the arms of her dear mother, whose face she had not seen for so long—oh so long, yes, long, long ago! Again that thrilling shiver passed over her, and the little face grew pale.
"Mother!" she cried—"mother! canst thou not hear me, mother? Mother! mother!" It rose higher and higher now, the wail of a child's despair.
But, hark! what was that other sound without? Music—voices—a burst of sudden song somewhere not far off. Violet ceased to cry, and listened with large dilated eyes, from which the pain of the past moment had not yet departed.
"The angels! the angels! I hear them singing!" she cried, starting up in an ecstasy of delight. "They are singing at the fountain; I can hear them. And Ella is with them, and she has wings. Ah, if some one could lift me gently and put me in my chairat the window!—Kate, Kate, come to Violet; come quickly."
She had not long to wait for an answer to her call, for as she cried aloud for Kate, the old servant pushed open the door, and walked in. She had not come, however, at Violet's summons. She held a red-coloured envelope in her hand, and she looked round the room anxiously and somewhat angrily.
"So; it is just as I thought. That little conceited minx has gone out, and left the child all alone. I just caught a sight of the hat as she whirled by the window, and I knew well where it came from."
"Kate, Kate, listen to the angels. They are singing at the fountain. If thou speakest so loud, I cannot hear them."
"Ay, ay; I hear them well enough. But who is to open this telegram and tell us what is in it?"
"Ah, Kate, do not mind what is in it. Lift me in thy arms, dear Kate, and put me in my chair by the window."
"Well, have patience a moment, and I will see if I can make out the words. I am a regular blockhead at reading; but the messenger is waiting at the door to see if there is any answer, and that silly girl may not be back for an hour."
Kate turned a little aside, as she tore open theenvelope, and looked back a moment at Violet with an evident nervousness of manner.
"Ah, God be thanked! it is no bad news. It is from the good lady at Gützberg. She will be here this afternoon."
But Violet did not hear one word Kate said. A great hope was rising in her bosom. The sound of the angels' voices was drawing nearer and nearer, and she could now almost catch the very words they were singing. It was growing clear to her that the procession must be advancing up the street.
"Kate, Kate, where art thou going?" she cried suddenly, as the old servant moved towards the door. "Wilt thou not carry Violet across to her chair?"
"Yes, yes, in a moment. I am only going to the street door, and I shall be back immediately."
By the time she returned to the room Violet's cheeks were burning with excitement, and there was a look in her eyes which almost frightened the old servant.
"Lift me to the window!" she cried, almost passionately. "The angels are coming! they have wings! I must see them! they are coming up the street!"
Kate held out her arms quickly to the child; but her heart sank as she noticed the crimson cheeks, and the eyes which looked at her and yet did not seemto see her, so full were they of some deep and overpowering excitement.
"Quick, quick! they are in the street!" she repeated feverishly.
"Ay, ay, they are in the street, that is true enough; but have patience, dear heart. There is time enough yet. They are not so near as thou thinkest."
Still Violet repeated the same words furiously—"Quick, quick! they are in the street! they are in the street!"—until Kate had taken her in her arms and carried her into the window.
"Do not put me in the chair; put me on the seat in the middle of the window," she cried eagerly, as Kate would have deposited her in her usual place. "Violet can see so much better all up and down the street, and thou canst put thy arms round me, and hold me so tightly;—is it not so, Kate?" She turned round quickly, and put her burning lips against the old woman's cheek: "The good Lord Jesus holds the sick lambs ever so closely in his arms; and I am one of his lambs, for I saw its face—oh so white!—and it was Violet's."
"Dear heart, she is crazed!" muttered Kate to herself.—"There now; sit down on the seat, and I will hold thee tightly, I warrant."
"The angels! I see them! they are dressed in white!They are coming nearer and nearer! Kate, canst thou not see them too?"
Violet clutched at the wooden box full of sweet violets, which stood on the window-sill outside, and drew herself forward with a sudden access of strength. The box, which was bound by many a cobweb to the mullioned stone, moved one inch or so, and rocked ominously. Two white pigeons, which were preening their feathers on the ledge just beside it, flew away frightened, and perched on the roof opposite.
"Kate, Kate, I see Ella! She is waving her hand to me; there is a crown in it. Dost thou not see?—a crown of gold. She is holding it out to me."
"Ay, ay; I see Miss Ella. How fat she looks; and cold too, poor child! her arms look quite blue in her thin white dress."
"Ah, she looks beautiful—the angels of God are all beautiful. They fly about in heaven and have no pain, Kate. And look at Ella's wings how they shine. Stand up straight, Kate, and thou wilt see better."
The Procession
The Procession.Page 275.
Kate leaned a little forward over the child's head and looked out. "Yes, yes; one would almost think that they were real. But here is another messenger coming to the door with a telegram, and there is no one downstairs to take it from him."
"Thou canst go down," cried Violet eagerly. "I am quite safe here in the window, and quite, quite comfortable."
"Thou art sure, dear heart?"
"Yes; I can hold on by the box until thou comest back."
Here all at once the children's voices burst forth in the street beneath, and in a delicious harmony took up the melodious hymn,—
"Angels of Jesus,Angels of light,Singing to welcomeThe pilgrims of night."
"Angels of Jesus,Angels of light,Singing to welcomeThe pilgrims of night."
"Angels of Jesus,Angels of light,Singing to welcomeThe pilgrims of night."
"Angels of Jesus,
Angels of light,
Singing to welcome
The pilgrims of night."
Ella's clear treble rose up high, high into the air, and seemed to enter in at the very window.
Violet, clutching unconsciously at the box in front of her, drew herself more forward, till at length she was leaning over the sweet-scented leaves, and could see well down into the street beneath.
There was a hush now among the crowd, for all the people gathered in the space below, listening entranced to the sweet childish treble as it rose higher and higher in its anxiety that the song should reach the ear of one the child loved. But all at once the song ceased, and a cry came from her parted lips—"See, see! look up! Violet is at the window, and she will fall."
The white-robed procession paused for a moment at the shrill scream of the child, and all heads were turned up to see what was the cause of her anguish, while at the same moment a woman's voice, uplifted in sudden terror, cried passionately from amongst them, "Violet! ah, wicked child; go back. What art thou doing?"
But Violet did not see the upturned faces, nor hear Evelina's cry of terror-struck reproach. She was alike unconscious of rebuke or fear, for in the street beneath her were gathered a glorious company of angels. Their raiment, white and glistening, dazzled her aching eyes; their crowns of gold seemed all on fire; while the voices of a great multitude rang in her ears in sweet, melodious invitation,—
"Come, weary soul;Jesus bids thee come."
"Come, weary soul;Jesus bids thee come."
"Come, weary soul;Jesus bids thee come."
"Come, weary soul;
Jesus bids thee come."
To Violet it was no longer the hot and dusty streets of Edelsheim on which she gazed. She did not see the rocking crowd or the terror imprinted now on every upturned face. No; those who caught a glimpse of her at this moment knew that she saw none of them—that some heavenly vision held her inthralled and amazed. Her lips were white; her eyes burned; she spoke, yet no one heard, till all at once she stretched out her arms with a cry ofsurpassing ecstasy, and exclaimed, "Mother, dear mother, see! look up! here is Violet."
Then all the people knew what was coming, for the child as she uttered the last words had fallen forward upon the box. It was hopeless to think that Evelina with all her efforts could reach the room in time. The wooden box had turned over on its side, and the loosened clay and the fragrant flowers rattling over their heads and faces gave them timely warning to retreat.
The crowd surged to each side; the angels, who had ceased their singing, recoiled with a terrified rapidity to the farther side of the street. Only one person, with a courageous presence of mind and a fearless love, rushed from amongst them to stay the terrible catastrophe.
But was it, after all, so terrible that the women should faint, and the angels hide their faces in their hands? Only a flutter of a purple frock, a glimpse of golden hair, preceded by a sudden crash as the box of violets fell splintered on the pavement beneath. Then all looked upwards with a scream. But Violet was in the arms of the old policeman, and the shining yellow locks were hanging loosely over his shoulder.
A crowd gathered round him quickly, and the people pressed upon him, while some of the littleangels in their silver shoes stood on tiptoe that they might, perchance, catch one glimpse of that white, white face.
Yes, it was white and still, and sad enough to look upon.
"Keep back," cried the policeman sternly, "and let the child have room to breathe."
"She will never breathe again," said the voice of a woman by his side; "the child is stone dead; we can see that for ourselves." It was Madam Adler who spoke, and she held Fritz by the hand, whose face was gray and rigid with fear and horror.
"Keep back, I say; she is not dead. For pity's sake let the child have air!"
There was a slight retrograde movement and then a general start of wonder. Violet had opened her eyes!
For a second, hope rose in every breast; for a smile glimmered and flickered over the poor pale face, and the lips moved. She lifted the drooping arm which had hung so listlessly by her side, and laid it for a moment upon the faithful breast of the old policeman. "My friend," she said softly, and looked up into his eyes with a gaze which was terrible in its steadfastness of love; then the eyelids closed quietly again, and the smile died out.
A hush fell on all the people. Surely this was death.
But there was still a breath, and the little purple frock heaved slowly, and the frill of the white pinafore quivered with a thrilling motion.
All at once she moved, turned her head quickly towards the street, and strove to raise herself in the arms of her friend.
"Fritz, Fritz!" she cried eagerly, in a strange uplifted voice full of a strong appeal.
"Yes, here is Fritz; what is it, dear Violet?"
"Fritz is here," he replied faintly, lifting up an ashen face towards hers.
But Violet's eyes were wide open now, and full of a wonderful joy. They travelled straight up over the housetops and the golden crown of the hill towards the bright blue sky, as if following some vision of delight.
"Fritz!"—it was now a cry of triumph—"it is all quite true. See! look up yonder, high, high up. Ah, seest thou not now Violet has wings?"
All the people with a common consent looked upward as she spoke; but there was nothing there to see but God's blue heaven and a speck of golden cloud sailing slowly past across the mountain top.
When they turned back again they knew then thatthe child was dead; for the eyes, full still of that strange purple wonder, were immovably fixed upon the far off heavens, and the awe and majesty of death were creeping into them as the light of life died out.
"Free at last," said the policeman, lifting up his face with a strange grim smile towards the distant sky. "She has escaped like a bird from its cage, and is gone up yonder."
There was nothing more to wait for now. The policeman turned towards the door of Violet's house and carried her away from their eyes. The procession, re-forming, moved mournfully onwards. Some women in the street snatched up bunches of the violets which lay scattered about over the road, and thrust them into their bosoms.
But Madam Adler, Fritz, and little Ella in her silver shoes and shining wings, remained behind, and they and many others followed the old policeman and his burden up the stairs; and Madam Adler, pushing her way on in front, opened the door of the kitchen to allow him to pass in. But there on the threshold they were met by Kate, behind whom stood the form of Evelina rigid with horror and dismay.
"Is it all over?" cried the old woman distractedly—"is the child dead?—tell me now at once, is our Violet dead?"
"Yes, quite dead."
"Thou art certain?"
"Yes, quite certain."
"Then God be praised for all his mercies. She will never know this new trouble which has fallen upon us. Her father is gone also." She held out her hand vaguely towards them all with an open telegraph form crumpled up in her fingers. Madam Adler snatched it from her and read the words, "John was killed this morning in repulsing with his company a sortie of the enemy from the town of Metz."
No more tears for little Violet. Yes, that was the joy which almost stilled their sorrow. How could they weep as they looked at that smile of perfect peace—that wonderful smile, fixed now in death, which had lightened up all her face as she cried out to Fritz with her parting breath, "Fritz, see!—it is all true—Violet has wings"?
Aunt Lizzie sat all day beside the little bed—yes, and all night too. She was never tired looking at the sweet pale face, so restful in its sleep; and though tears flowed constantly down her cheeks, her heart was ever busy thanking God, who had so mercifully called home his little suffering lamb before the last sad news had reached her of her father's death.
She was with them now, that was enough for her to know, and for evermore all would be peace. The little mother so long sighed for, the father who had so tenderly shielded his darling from trouble, and hadwatched over her in her loneliness—yes, they were all united now, and she knew that Violet was beyond the reach of trouble. For her and for them sorrow and sighing had fled away, and in their place had come the everlasting rest and happiness of heaven. No wonder that Aunt Lizzie rose up sometimes suddenly and kissed the sweet face with a passionate thrill of joy, nay, almost of envy.
The neighbours streamed in all day long; indeed it seemed to Aunt Lizzie that the whole town of Edelsheim came to see the little face lying in such a sweet stillness on the pillow.
Beautiful white flowers were laid upon the counterpane, and the air of the room was almost oppressive with the scent of the violets which were brought as a last offering, as a last tribute of love to their own Violet, the sweet flower of Edelsheim, whose face had ever looked out upon them from the many-sided window overhanging the street, with the patient smile so familiar to their eyes.
In the evening, when all the rest were gone, Fritz stole in, leading Ella by the hand. Kate had just placed the lamp on the table, and Aunt Lizzie had risen up to draw the curtains; but he looked at neither of them, only walked over straight to the bedside, and stood there gazing at his littlecompanion's face with an intense and speechless sorrow. But with Ella it was different. She gave one glance at the figure so unfamiliar in its stillness, and then fled with a cry to Aunt Lizzie, burying her face in her dress and sobbing violently.
Aunt Lizzie drew the little girl into the inner room to comfort her; Kate hobbled down the stairs sobbing as she went; and Fritz was left alone, still standing gazing with a bursting heart at the smile which was not for him.
For a moment he lifted his eyes and looked round the room nervously, and then he stooped and kissed her forehead. "Violet," he said softly, and waited, childlike, for an answer; but the lips did not move in response, only to his eyes, dazzled as they were with resisted tears, the smile seemed to widen at his call.
"Violet, hist! Fritz knows now that thou hast wings. Violet, Fritz loves thee; and, listen, Violet, Fritz will always, always remember thee; and he will always love God, too, and the good Lord Jesus." Two immense tears fell upon Violet's face; and then Fritz, drawing nearer, knelt down by the side of the little bed and covered his face reverently with his hands.
When Aunt Lizzie returned to the room Fritz was gone, but the tears which the boy had shed still glimmered faintly on the quiet face.
That evening, too, the old policeman came to take his last look. He stood with uncovered head by the bedside, and uttered not a word. The face seemed to have a strange attraction for him, for he gazed at it without moving for many minutes. He, too, kissed his little friend ere he walked away, and laid in the cold clasped hands a bunch of blue forget-me-nots. But at the door he paused, and looking at Aunt Lizzie he asked, with an eye which for the moment burned with a suppressed anger, "Where is the girl?"
"Dost thou mean Evelina?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Ah, she has returned to Gützberg; she left here the very evening of the accident. She feared, I think, to meet the face of any one who knew and loved our darling."
"Ah, she did well," he said bitterly. "God, who forgives all sin, may pardon her. He can be merciful as well as just. But we of Edelsheim, never!"
The next morning the carriage, made with such care by poor faithful John, was lifted out from its corner in the room and carried down into the street; and there they laid upon it the little white coffin which held the body of Violet.
The descent to the little church-yard near the fountain was densely packed with mourners, and with difficulty the old policeman, assisted by Fritz, drew it through the weeping crowd. Behind it walked a company of children dressed in the same white robes with the same white wings which they had worn on the day of the procession; and now, as the little carriage moved on, their lips opened, and there burst forth the same song of the angels welcoming the weary soul to heaven which had startled Violet from her reverie only a few short days before and had called her from her loneliness and her fear to everlasting life.
Thus her wish was fulfilled, that her first drive in the carriage made for her by her father should be to the place where her mother had been buried; and there they laid down the poor tired lamb at last, to sleep on its mother's breast. The people, gathered round the grave, sobbed and wept; the angels lifted up their voices with the same sweet but mournful cry; the policeman folded his arms on his breast, grim and stern, while his sword clinked against the gravel. But it was left for Fritz to know the whole grand truth. Standing there unconscious of all and everything around him, with eyes uplifted to heaven he saw her as she was.
White-winged, rejoicing, exulting in her new-found strength, poised in the air above his head, radiant in robes of dazzling whiteness, he saw again that small white face break into a smile of rapture; and he heard a voice say, "Fritz, 'no more tears;' Violet has wings." And then some one cried out, "Look at the boy! he is white as death, he is fainting;" and so they lifted him into the church and laid him on the ground, and Aunt Lizzie placed his head upon her knee.
And by-and-by the crowd dispersed, and those who lingered laid wreaths upon the grave; and some knelt down and kissed the earth above their little Violet's sleeping-place.
* * * * *
It is now many a long year since little Violet escaped out of her cage and mounted up like a bird to heaven, and yet she is remembered as lovingly as ever by the people of Edelsheim. If you turn aside into the little church-yard at the foot of the hill, you will see the monument that they have erected with much love and care to her memory. And perhaps you may meet there a woman who comes often to weep at her grave and to pray, but from whom the townspeople still turn away with aversion. She is never tired looking at the white face carved so faithfullyand beautifully in marble, nor at the outstretched pinions which, spreading across the arms of the cross, support the cherub's head.
There is no epitaph to tell of their darling's pure life, nor of her sad death; only three words, and yet they embrace all—"Violet has wings."
It was Fritz who chose them. But to comfort the hearts of all those in Edelsheim who had loved her so well, the sculptor added at the base of the monument a bunch of fading violets, and beneath them he carved these words of hope and consolation—"Auf wiedersehen" (To meet again).