She had
full scope and freedom to think what she would--no less than if a
hundred years of earthly bliss had awaited her. Her life had been full
of all manner of spiritual beauties and perfumes--a divine poem, though
written upon clay. Let only the harmony of sweet music float about her
now, and the shadow of what was to come be not cast over her.
She sat in her deep, soft easy-chair, with its high back, and square,
roomy seat. An open-grate stove furnished light to the room, for Sophie
had blown out her candle. As the flame rose or sank, the various objects
round about stood visible, or vanished duskily away. Endymion, over the
mantel-piece, still slept as peacefully as ever, and the smile, though
forever upon his lips, seemed always to have but that moment alighted
there. How tenderly the lustrous touch of the moon brightened on his
white shoulder!
The golden letters of the Lord's Prayer gleamed ever and anon from the
shadow above the bed, and sent the shining beauty of a sentence across
to Sophie's eyes; and the face of the cherub, with his chin upon his
hand, was turned upward in immortal adoration. Sophie's glance rested
thoughtfully upon one and then the other. They were incorporated into
her life. Would they have power to protect her from evil and suffering?
Well, the words of the Prayer settle that question most wisely.
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