Ester Ried | Page 7

doctor drew back quickly, and motioned her father
forward.
"Speak to her, Mr. Vane."
"Florence, my darling," the old man said, with inexpressible love and
tenderness sounding in his voice. His fair young daughter turned her
eyes on him; but the words she spoke were not of him, or of aught
around her. So clear and sweet they sounded, that Ester, sitting quite
across the room from her, heard them distinctly.
"I saw mother, and I saw my Savior."

Dr. Van Anden sank upon his knees, as the drooping lids closed again,
and his voice was low and tremulous:
"Father, into thy hands we commit this spirit. Thy will be done."
In a moment more all was bustle and confusion. The nurse was
thoroughly awakened; the doctor cared for the poor childless father
with the tenderness of a son; then came back to send John for help, and
to give directions concerning what was to be done.
Through it all Ester sat motionless, petrified with solemn astonishment.
Then the angel of death had really been there in that very room, and she
had been "so wise in her own conceit," that she did not know it until he
had departed with the freed spirit!
Florence really was sick, then--dangerously sick. The doctor had not
deceived them, had not magnified the trouble as she supposed; but it
could not be that she was dead! Dead! Why, only a few minutes ago
she was sleeping so quietly! Well, she was very quiet now. Could the
heart have ceased its beating?
Sadie's Florence dead! Poor Sadie! What would they say to her? How
could they tell her?
Sitting there, Ester had some of the most solemn, self-reproachful
thoughts that she had ever known. God's angel had been present in that
room, and in what a spirit had he found this watcher?
Dr. Van Anden went quietly, promptly, from room to room, until every
thing in the suddenly stricken household was as it should be; then he
came to Ester:
"I will go over home with you now," he said, speaking low and kindly.
He seemed to under stand just how shocked she felt.
They went, in the night and darkness, across the street, saying nothing.
As the doctor applied his key to the door, Ester spoke in low, distressed
tones:

"Doctor Van Anden, I did not think--I did not dream--." Then she
stopped.
"I know," he said, kindly. "It was unexpected. I thought she would
linger until morning, perhaps through the day. Indeed, I was so sure,
that I ventured to keep my worst fears from Mr. Vane. I wanted him to
rest to-night. I am sorry--it would have been better to have prepared
him; but 'At even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the
morning'--you see we know not which. I thank God that to Florence it
did not matter."
Those days which followed were days of great opportunity to Ester, if
she had but known how to use them. Sadie's sad, softened heart, into
which grief had entered, might have been turned by a few kind, skillful
words, from thoughts of Florence to Florence's Savior. Ester did try;
she was kinder, more gentle with the young sister than was her wont to
be; and once, when Sadie was lingering fondly over memories of her
friend, she said, in an awkward, blundering way, something about
Florence having been prepared to die, and hoping that Sadie would
follow her example. Sadie looked surprised, but answered, gravely:
"I never expect to be like Florence. She was perfect, or, at least, I'm
sure I could never see any thing about her that wasn't perfection. You
know, Ester, she never did any thing wrong."
And Ester, unused to it, and confused with her own attempt, kept
silence, and let poor Sadie rest upon the thought that it was Florence's
goodness which made her ready to die, instead of the blood of Jesus.
So the time passed; the grass grew green over Florence's grave, and
Sadie missed her indeed. Yet the serious thoughts grew daily fainter,
and Ester's golden opportunity for leading her to Christ was lost.
CHAPTER IV.
THE SUNDAY LESSON.
Alfred and Julia Ried were in the sitting-room, studying their

Sabbath-school lessons. Those two were generally to be found together;
being twins, they had commenced life together, and had thus far gone
side by side. It was a quiet October Sabbath afternoon. The twins had a
great deal of business on hand during the week, and the Sabbath-school
lesson used to stand a fair chance of being forgotten; so Mrs. Ried had
made a law that half an hour of every Sabbath afternoon should be
spent in studying the lesson for the coming Sabbath. Ester sat in the
same room, by the window; she had