"Soon enough!" What! to be wedded to a compound of the most hideous deformity! "Soon enough!" To blot out the memory of the pure and immortal one, and to link herself to a revolting and miserable object! It were better to be lying peacefully beneath the green earth than to walk about a living corpse, with but the semblance of animation. What mockery it seemed to her as she stood by the silent dead! The pet name, too, was almost an insult to the pure and loving heart that had smothered its springing affections, until the life also was crushed and gone. Oh! that she could tear out the remembrance of her cousin's weakness and folly so that she need abate nothing of her accustomed kindness and attention. Henceforth she must withhold from him even the natural sympathy which his infirmities demand, and perhaps be forced to add another tinge to the bitterness of his fate, by a constant coldness and indifference toward him.
Poor child! the ills of life come seldom singly, yet how much greater is the might that can rise above and conquer a complication of sorrows. There was strength for Kittie in the contemplation of the serene face that was before her--so free from every shadow that had darkened it when animate. There were exhortations to patience in its hallowed expression, and lessons upon the nothingness of our temporary trials, and inspiring promises of the end--that glorious end that will compensate for all our sad beginnings. No wonder Kittie Fay was more than ever tranquil as she stepped again within the circle of her home; and no wonder the wound that lay deeply hidden was unsuspected there.
"Come, come Archie, my son, don't be fooling with your old grandmother. What does it all mean? Is it a wedding, boy? Ah, yes, I mind me now; it was just so when your father was married, this day forty years ago--posies all about, on the dresser, on the bed--roses and pansies, and 'bundance o' green stuff every where," and the unconscious idiot touched the cold hands, and put her arms around the stiff neck, laying her wrinkled face to the youth's cheek, and then she would dress his hair with the flowers, weaving fantastic garlands, and twining them in and out, amid the damp locks. It was thus they found her--old Patrick and Molly--as they entered the silent room on the morning of Archie's funeral. "Is the bride ready?" asked she, unwinding her arms from the lad, and smoothing down her dress, as if to make herself presentable, "because," she continued, advancing toward Molly, and pointing to the couch, "he's waiting for her. 'Tis a beautiful home they'll have, I never dreamed of any thing so pretty; but _he_ whispered it to me--golden streets, and pearls, and rivers of water, and trees with all manner of fruit--'tis worth while to be _his_ bride! I never thought our Archie'd come to all this good!"