The gates ajar. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.

132 The Gates Ajar.
all the time, I said nothing to her. I thought
that she would shut herself up for the day, and
was rather surprised that she was about as
usual, busily at work, chatting with me, and
playing with Faith. Just after tea, she went
away alone for a time, and came back a little
quiet, but that was all. I was for some reason
impressed with the feeling that she kept the
day in memory, not so much as the day of her
mourning, as of his release.
Longing to do something for her, yet not
knowing what to do, I went into the garden
while she was away, and, finding some carnations, that shone like stars in the dying light, I
gathered them all, and took them to her room,
and, filling my tiny porphyry vase, left them on
the bracket, under the photograph of Uncle
Forceythe that hangs by the window.
When she found them, she called me, and
kissed me.
" Thank you, dear," she said, " and thank
God too, Mary, for me. That he should have
been happy, -happy and out of pain, for
three long beautiful years! 0, think of that! "
When I was in her room with the flowers, I
passed the table on which her little Bible lay
open. A mark of rich ribbon -a black rib