When you have strained to bear your burden and keep up with the world's
march, lightly commiserated by the strong, there is great peace in
finally giving up and lying down by the roadside. The hour often
fiercely wished for, and as often repelled with awe, is here. The
visible is about to become invisible. It is your turn to pass into the
unknown. You have seen other faces stiffen, and other people carried out
and forgotten. Your face is now going to chill the touch. You are going
to be carried out. But, most wonderful of all, you who have been so
keenly alive are glad to creep close to Death and lay your head in his
lap.
There are natures to whom suffering is degradation. Sympathy would burn
them like caustic. They are dumb on the side which seeks promiscuous
fellowship. They love one person, and live or die by that love.
"I have borne it by myself so far," Maria would think; "I can bear it by
myself the rest of the way."
Yet the sleepy nurse was often roused at dead of night by her sobbing:
"Oh, James, that you should be in the same town with me, and never come
near to see me die! And I love you,--I love you so in spite of
everything.
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