The gates ajar. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.

The Gates Ajar. 97
whatever that mysterious pause may mean,
just as there is joy over one sinner that
repenteth; another of my proof-texts that, to
show that they are allowed to keep us in
sight."
"Then you think, you really think, that Roy
remembers and loves and takes care of me;
that he has been listening, perhaps, and is -
why, you don't think he may be here? "
"Yes, I do. Here, close beside you all this
time, trying to speak to you through the blessed sunshine and the flowers, trying to help
you, and sure to love you, - right here, dear.
I do not believe God means to send him away
from you, either."
My heart was too full to answer her.
Seeing how it was, she slipped away, and, strolling out of signt with her face to the eastern
hills, left me alone.
And yet I did not seem alone. The low
branches swept with a little soft sigh across
the grave; the May-flowers wrapped me in
with fragrance thick as incense; the tiny
sparrow turned her soft eyes at me over the
edge of the nest, and chirped contentedly; the
"blessed sunshine" talked with me as it
touched the edges of the ivy-leaves to fire.
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