That spiked iron linked round the
helpless dust seemed like the chains of repression that had tortured
and crushed the soft ardent nature. That arrogant cross, stretching
its arms threateningly above the lonely tomb, seemed the cross upon
which we had crucified--she and I--the desires of the flesh. And at
its foot, I read,--"She sleeps to waken to a glad to-morrow." And
then a bitter laugh burst from my lips.
"Who put that?" I asked. "Great God! that that word should follow me
even here!"
Dick took my arm.
"We know nothing. There may be a to-morrow;" at which I merely
laughed again.
"Wife of V. Hilton!" I repeated, reading from the stone. "If she had
been, Dick, it would not have been so hard."
Dick said nothing. After a time he urged me to come away from the
grave.
"Where? To what?" I asked him; and we both stood silent, gazing upon
her cross.
. . . . . . .
Months have passed by, and Dick consoles me still, and tells me I
shall refind the zest of life by and by, later on, in the future,
to-morrow.
End of Project Gutenberg Etext of To-morrow? by Victoria Cross
Pages:
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253