Oh, save--save me! I am pursued. Hold me, my Mother--my
sorrowful Mother!"
May could only follow implicitly the doctor's directions, and weep and
pray. Father Fabian came--heard the story of her repentance, and
desire to return to God; then returned to wrestle in earnest prayer at
the altar that she--the penitent one--might be restored long enough to
be purified and consoled by the Sacraments of the Church. For long
weary days and nights her life was despaired of. Her husband, the
shadow of his former self, never left her bedside. He had loved her
well, with all his worldliness and pride. But now the crisis of the
disease came on. Her life hung upon the most attenuated thread. The
doctor gave them no hope of a favorable change.
It was past midnight. May, with Father Fabian, who had staid, hoping
that a short interval of reason would occur before her agony came
on--for they thought she was sinking--knelt, praying and imploring the
mercy of heaven for her helpless soul. Mr. Jerrold, unmanned, and
filled with bitter anguish, had gone out into the balcony, which
overhung the garden, where, bowed down, he wept like a child.
A low moan escaped Helen's white lips, a quivering motion convulsed her
limbs. Her long golden hair was thrown back in dishevelled curls from
her marble face. She gasped for breath.
"Her agony is coming on!" whispered Father Fabian.
But suddenly there was a calm; the struggle ceased, and like one
exhausted, she whispered, "Thanks, oh, my Mother!" and her large eyes,
from which the film passed away, closed in a sweet and refreshing
slumber.
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