CHAPTER XXXVI.



Threads of silver shot through Dawn's silken hair, yet she grew more beautiful as the years matured her. The children under her care grew to be young men and women, and went out into the world qualified to live harmonious lives. She had taught them the true religion of life; had impressed upon their minds the importance of enjoying this life, that they might be prepared to enjoy the life that follows it; that to be happy now is to be happy forever, for the present is always ours, the future never.

"I have one wish more," she said to her friend, Miss Bernard.

"And pray tell me what modest ambition you have just now?"

"It is one I have long cherished. I wish to see a hospital for invalids erected within sight of this Home."

"You are so successful in seeing your wishes ultimated, I shall expect to see one in a few months."

"I should be glad to see a good list of names with generous subscriptions by that time. I think if all the extra plate and jewelry of wealthy families, articles which do them no good, or rather the surplus (for the beautiful in moderation ever does us good) were sold, and the money given to such an object, very much might be done. I see, when I come in contact with people, the great need that exists for an institution where patients can be surrounded with all that is lovely and artistic, and their spiritual and physical needs attended to. Many need only change of magnetism and conditions, with the feeling that they have a protecting care around them, to change the whole tone of the system. Others are weak, have lost mental stamina, and need the tonic of stronger minds; while some need tenderness and love, and to be treated like weary children. Many would need no physical ministration direct, but spiritual uplifting, which would in time project its force through the mental, and harmonize the body. There are many such cases."

"True, I know we need such an institution to meet those wants which you have so faithfully sketched; and if a few earnest men and women work for that end, may we not hope to see it accomplished, and the blue dome rising somewhere among these hills? I will contribute my part, and give a good portion of my time for its accomplishment."

"If all felt as you do we might surely see it in our day; but we will hope that the need will develop such a place, for the need is but an index pointing to the establishment of such an institution."

"I have often wondered if cases of insanity might not be treated more successfully than they are by scientific men."

"I feel that they could be under pure inspiration, and in nine cases out of ten, the disharmonized mind be restored to harmony."

"O, Dawn, let us work for this, and though we may never see it in our life, we shall have the consolation and happiness of knowing that we had a part in the beginning."

"And the beginning is the noblest part, because the least appreciated. The ball in motion will have many following it, but the starting must be done by one or two."

Their conversation was here interrupted by the announcement of a visitor, who proved to be Miss Weston, whom Dawn was delighted to see.

"I had a singular feeling," she said, to Dawn "as I came up the steps of the portico, what do you suppose it was?"

"I am not clairvoyant to-day. Be kind enough to tell me."

"I felt as though I was coming to a home, one which I should never wish to leave."

"And you need not, so long as you can be happy with me. I have long needed some one like yourself to help me. Will you stay?"

"Dawn, may I?"

"Nothing would give me more happiness, because you have come in this way; of your own spontaniety-simply gravitated to my life-and when the exhaustion of our mental and vital forces demands our separation we will part, and consider that as natural and agreeable to each as our present coming together."

"O, if these principles could be understood and lived out, how happy, how natural we all should be; and happy because natural."

"The world is slowly coming to an understanding of them, and you and I may help its advance by living what we feel to be true lives."

"Dawn, you are life and light to every one, I shall stay here the rest of my life."

With the clasp of true friendship about them, they lived and worked together. Winter came, and they sat at evening by the fire-side and talked of the past, and the golden future for mankind. The textures of their lives were fast weaving into one web of interest. Dawn's excess of spiritual life flowed into Edith's, who never forgot the hour upon the seashore, and the awakening there of her spiritual trust.

Miss Weston proved to be one of those household angels who see things to do, and seeing, perform. Silently she slipped into her sphere of usefulness, and became Dawn's helper in the thousand ways which a woman of tact and delicacy can ever be.

Silently the pines waved over the graves of Florence and her children. The snow of many winters fell on their tasselled boughs, while her husband learned through the beautiful philosophy, that our loved ones find death no barrier to the affections. Gradually he learned the great lesson of patience, which must be inwrought in every soul-that all our experiences of life are necessary, and in divinest order; that everything which happens is a part of the great whole, and that none of the bitter could have been left out of his cup. The unrest, produced by what he once considered his loss passed away, as the recognition of life's perfect discipline flowed unto his vision.

The nearest person on earth, now, was his friend and sister Dawn, kin of spirit, heart and mind. Regardless of people's speech, he went often to her home, and received the sympathy he needed. To him, she was life and inspiration. Why should he not seek where he could find? It was her soul-life he needed, and long and earnestly they conversed of those interior principles which so few perceive.

"I have learned by experience what true relationship may exist between men and women," said Dawn to Edith, one day when every moment had been given to Herbert, "and how God intended us for each other?"

"And I see how your own life is increased by giving it to others, as you are every day doing. If I had a husband, Dawn, I should enjoy him most after he had been in your society. Uplifted and toned by the life of another, he could be far more to me,—far dearer and vital. I wonder women do not see this great truth."

"They cannot on the merely human plane, which is ever selfish. Raise them out of that, place them on the mount of vision, and they would at once see it, and be glad to give their husbands the liberty of true women's society, knowing that they were extending their own lives in so doing. If men are unduly restrained, they take a lower form of freedom."

"It is too true. I can now see that had I been allowed the earthly alliance, I might have been selfish and contracted. I almost know I should. O, Dawn, how much life is worth to us all; how much we have to thank our heavenly father for,—most of all for the clouds with silver linings."

"I am glad that you see it thus, my friend, my sister. That is the soul's only sure position. Life is a great and glorious gift. If all its hours were mixed with pain, even to have lived is grand." Then with her eyes looking afar, as if discerning scenes invisible to others, she repeated these beautiful lines:

"Two eyes hath every soul: One into Time shall see; The other bend its gaze Into Eternity. In all eternity No tone can be so sweet As where man's heart with God, In unison doth beat. What'er thou lovest, Man, That too become thou must; God-if thou lovest God; Dust-if thou lovest dust. Let but thy heart, O man! Become a valley low, And God will rain on it Till it will overflow."

Golden bars of light lay in the room. The sun was sinking peacefully to rest, like a great soul who had been faithful to every duty, and rayed out its life on the barren places of earth. In that calm evening, in the greater calm of their lives they sat, gathering rest for the morrow, and peace for their midnight dreams-dreams which brought to them the forms of their loved ones who had gone but a little while before, and who loved them still, rippling the silent stream with memory-waves, till they broke on the shore and cooled their weary feet.

THE END