Mercy’s face was white, and her lips trembled; but her look was hardly the look of one in sorrow:  it was a rapt look, as of one walking on dizzy heights, breathless with some solemn purpose.  Lizzy was convulsed with grief, sobbing like a child, and pouring out one incoherent sentence after another.  Mercy soothed her and comforted her as a mother might have done, and finally compelled her to be more calm.  Mercy’s magnetic power over those whom she loved was almost unlimited.  She forestalled their very wills, and made them desire what she desired.

“O Mercy, don’t make me glad he is dead!  You frighten me, darling.  I don’t want to stop crying; but you have sealed up all my tears,” cried Lizzy, later in the day, when Mercy had been talking like a seer, who could look into the streets of heaven, and catch the sound of the songs of angels.

Mercy smiled sadly.  “I don’t want to prevent your crying, dear,” she said, “if it does you any good.  But I am very sure that Mr. Dorrance sees us at this moment, and longs to tell us how glad he is, and that we must be glad for him.”  And Mercy’s eyes shone as they looked steadfastly across the room, as if the empty space were, to her vision, peopled with spirits.  This mood of exalted communion did not leave her.  Her face seemed transfigured by it.  When she stood by the body of her loved teacher and friend, she clasped her hands, and, bending over the face, exclaimed,—­

“Oh, how good God was!” Then, turning suddenly to Lizzy, she exclaimed,—­

“Lizzy, did you know that he loved me, and asked me to be his wife?  This is why I am thanking God for taking him to heaven.”

Lizzy’s face paled.  Astonishment, incredulity, anger, grief, all blended in the sudden look she turned upon Mercy.  “I thought so!  I thought so!  But I never believed you knew it.  And you did not love him!  Mercy, I will never forgive you!”

“He forgave me,” said Mercy, gently; “and so you might.  But I shall never forgive myself!”

“Mercy Philbrick!” exclaimed Lizzy, “how could you help loving that man?” And, in her excitement, Lizzy stretched out her right hand towards the rigid, motionless figure under the white pall.  “He was the most glorious man God ever made.”

The two women stood side by side, looking into the face of the dead.  It was a strange place for these words to be spoken.  It was as solemn as eternity.

“I did not help loving him,” said Mercy, in a lower tone, her white face growing whiter as she spoke.  “But”—­she paused.  No words came to her lips, for the bitter consciousness which filled her heart.

Lizzy’s voice sank to a husky whisper.

“But what?” she said.  “O Mercy, Mercy! is it Stephen White you love?” And Lizzy’s face, even in that solemn hour, took a look of scorn.  “Are you going to marry Stephen White?” she continued.

“Never, Lizzy,—­never!” said Mercy, in a tone as concentrated as if a lifetime ended there; and, stooping low, she kissed the rigid hands which lay folded on the heart of the man she ought to have loved, but had not.  Then, turning away, she took Lizzy’s hands in hers, and kissing, her forehead said earnestly,—­