But it was not over
yet. The organ in deep-toned thunders, and notes of liquid music,
wailed forth the dolorous harmony of Stabat Mater, while voices of
surpassing sweetness sung the words.
"I am ill, Walter--take me home," gasped Helen. "I am overcome by the
heat and crowd."
"We must wait a little, Helen. The throng is so great that we cannot
move. Dry your face, and let me fan you. Every body is crying, I
believe--don't let that trouble you. See, Helle, even I have dropped a
tear in memory of those stupendous sorrows," said Walter Jerrold, half
playfully, and half in earnest.
Then Helen leaned her face on her hands, while torrents of tears
dripped over the diamonds and rubies that decked her fingers.
CHAPTER XVIII.
REPENTANCE.
May was sitting in her neat little parlor, knitting and singing, when
there came a curt, sharp rap on the door.
"Come in," she said, looking up; and Mr. Fielding walked in, heated and
flurried. "I am very glad to see you, sir. Give me your hat, and let
me fetch you a drink of cool water."
"No, ma'am; I am not in a sufficiently pleasant mood with you to accept
your hospitalities. I came on legal business," he said, pursing up his
mouth, and looking around.
"I am sorry that you are offended with me, sir. What shall I do to
obtain your forgiveness?" replied May, with a grave smile.
"Do? What shall you do?" he said, mimicking her. "Do as you always
do, and that is just what suits you, ma'am.
Pages:
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194