Miss Thane had all along understood that a meeting with her mother\'s only and twin sister, either by accident or design, was quite within the scope of possibilities. She had even regarded it as perhaps the brightest prospect which the future afforded her, in case her present experiment in life should fail to give her satisfaction, or her heart should suddenly utter an importunate cry for that cup of cold water of human affection, which is only to be tasted in the society of one\'s own kin. Amid the gray monotony of her existence, she had often pictured that meeting to herself in a variety of pleasant coloring and dramatic shapes; but never, it is safe to say, in the solemn lights and sober shadows in which it finally took its place among the memorable scenes of her life.
Yet in no other way could it have operated so powerfully to awaken the instinct of kinship within her, to melt her reserve, to draw out her dormant sympathies,—in short, to call forth whatever was deepest, richest, and womanliest in her nature. And certainly, in no other way could it have brought so strong and subtle an influence to bear upon the sombre doubts and chill infidelities of her mind; setting over against her cool, speculative belief in a blind Chance or an inflexible Fate, Mrs. Lyte\'s calm trust in the goodness of God\'s providence, against the blighting, chilling, unbeauteous effects of suffering on her own heart, the gracious fruitage of patience, contentment, and love, ripening under its touch in Mrs. Lyte\'s, against her own dim outlook into an unknown future, her aunt\'s firm expectation of the eternal weight of glory. The contrast was too striking not to be noticed, its testimony in favor of faith over unbelief too strong to be ignored. Daily, as she watched by her aunt\'s bedside, questions that she had once settled, or laid aside as incapable of settlement, came up again, to be examined in new and diviner lights. Daily the good work which Bergan had been instrumental in beginning in her heart, went forward,—not like the work of doubt, tearing down what it could not rebuild, and taking away bread to give a stone,—but bringing order out of confusion, proportion out of inequality, solidity out of disintegration.
On the other hand, her advent was no less beneficial, in its way, to her aunt and cousins. Not to speak of the material comforts and luxuries which she managed so delicately to introduce into the sick-room, as to make them seem much like direct gifts of Providence, without any intervening hand, she brought into their forlorn, narrow, monotonous life an element of variety and interest, as well as of personal helpfulness, that was sorely needed. Mrs. Lyte soon grew to depend upon her constant presence and care scarcely less than upon Astra\'s. She never wearied of searching her beautiful face for fitful touches of resemblance to the darling twin sister, whose runaway marriage and subsequent death had been the great grief of her own earlier years, nor of drawing out such facts in relation to that sister\'s short married life, and Diva\'s birth, as the latter had been able to gather from others, and store in her memory. She was deeply interested, too, in Diva\'s own history,—her motherless childhood, her long sojourn in Europe, her art studies, her reasons for the isolated life that she had been leading of late. Especially did she delight in hearing her sing. Diva might busy herself in whatever part of the house\'s narrow precinct she pleased, if only her voice floated into the sick-room, and sweetened the air with the notes and words of some favorite "hymn of the ages," or the soft Italian melodies that she had learned in their native land. While the lovely voice kept on, Mrs. Lyte lay lapped in smiling content, or slept in perfect tranquillity, lulled more effectually than by any anodyne.
Nor was Astra any less ready to accept her kinswoman as a timely boon and blessing. It was not only an unspeakable relief to feel a part of her heavy burden of care lifted from her shoulders by hands so willing, so tender, and with so undoubted a right to the privilege; it was also a rare delight to have such thoroughly congenial companionship. As for Cathie, her heart was easily won,—all the more that she never seemed to quite rid herself of her first impression that the new-comer was celestial rather than human, and to be adored accordingly. In short, Diva soon found for herself so fit, definite, and essential a place in all these hearts and lives as to suggest the idea that it must have been prepared expressly, and kept waiting for her—she knew not how long. Nay, more,—she must have been prepared for it; carefully fitted, by many sad and stern circumstances, for this exchange of helpful influences, for her part in that solemn symphony of events which was rolling its profound harmonies through Mrs. Lyte\'s sick-chamber.
For the invalid did not rally. After one week of apparent pause, her life\'s lapse went steadily on. Day by day, she weakened and wasted; day by day, the spirit loosened its mortal garments, and made itself ready to put on immortality; day by day, her mind let go something of earthly cares, anxieties, wishes, and fears, and fixed itself more firmly upon the Rock of Ages, and the rest that remaineth. Nothing of life seemed left, by and by, but love; making manifest, by this true "survival of the fittest," its Divine origin and destiny.
One summer afternoon, when the sun was flooding all the earth and sky with the glory of his departure, Bergan knocked at the door of Astra\'s studio, according to his daily habit, to inquire if he could be of any service. No answer being returned to his knock, he let himself in and went softly to the bedroom door. A scene too beautiful to be called sad, though infinitely solemn, met his view.
Astra was seated on the bed, holding her mother in her arms, to afford her a grateful change of position. Cathie lay curled up at the invalid\'s feet, with her large eyes fixed on the rapt, hushed face,—the half-closed eyes and slightly parted lips of which suggested a soft sinking into that sweet slumber, which is yet not so much slumber as a happy dream. Diva knelt by the bedside, with her aunt\'s hand in hers, singing in tones that thrilled him through and through, much as he had learned in these days, of the marvellous beauty and pathos of her voice;—
"When I rise to worlds unknown,
And behold Thee on Thy Throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee!"
As the last note died away, he stepped forward and lifted the unconscious form from Astra\'s arms. She looked up at him wonderingly.
"The earthly hymn was very sweet," said he gently, "but the song of the redeemed in Paradise is sweeter still."
Still she seemed not to understand. What words were at once tender and solemn enough for the full explanation? None but those of inspiration; at once old and fresh; having poured their balm all along down through the centuries, yet falling on each newly bereaved heart, as if still moist and cool with the dew of their birth. Reverently he quoted:—
"\'Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them.\'"
Mrs. Lyte was taken to Berganton, and laid in the churchyard by her husband\'s side, amid much kindred dust. Bergan accompanied the small funeral train to within two or three miles of the village, and then turned back; in obedience to Astra\'s wish, as expressed to him through Diva Thane. The poor girl remembered in what way her name and his had been connected, and naturally shrank from anything that might seem to give it confirmation. But as the train passed the avenue to Bergan Hall, the Major wheeled into the vacant place behind the carriage of the chief mourners, assisted them out at the gate of the cemetery, and offered Astra his arm.
"I am your father\'s nearest living relative," said he, huskily, "and though I behaved like a brute to your mother at one time, I have been sorry enough for it since, to have a right to follow her to the grave."
Many of Mrs. Lyte\'s old friends and neighbors gathered round to assist in the last solemn rites, and some of them came afterward to say a few w............