And as the last sod had been placed upon Julia Lawson's grave, and
the flowers that she loved strewn over it by loving hands, we cannot
move from the spot.
It is scenes like those that teach us what we are, so long as there
is the least impress of the Divine in our nature will we look to
those scenes as mile-stones on our journey through life.
Kneeling beside the sacred spot the grief-stricken brother was
utterly unconscious of our presence. With tearless eyes he gazed
upon the mound that held the remains of her he loved so fondly.
Who will not say that in that dark hour there hovered near a band of
angelic beings, and foremost in that band the angel mother whose
breath fanned the pale brow of the mourner and quieted the soul
within?
Ah, yes; it is not heresy to think thus. Phillip Lawson surely felt
such influence as he arose and in tones of quiet resignation
murmured, "Father thy will be done." Then picking up a half blown
rose that had fallen upon the ground, pressed it to his lips
exclaiming, "fitting emblem of the pure and innocent young life cut
off ere it had blossomed into womanhood."
And the hollow sounds that greeted the mourner as he wandered
listlessly from room to room apparently looking for some object,
some vague uncertainty, something indefinable.
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