"The first load
of coals came in that way, but master wouldn't have it used: he didn't
like a door to his house he never set eyes on, he said."
"But how could it have been open to let them in?" said Hester.
When they reached the cellar, she took the candle and went to look at
the door. It was pushed to, but not locked, and had no fastening upon it
except the lock, in which was the key. She turned the key, and taking it
out, put it in her pocket.
Then they carried up the little body, washed it, dressed it in white,
and laid it straight in its beauty--symbol--passing, like all
symbols--of a peace divinely more profound--the little hands folded on
the breast under the well-contented face, repeating the calm expression
of that conquest over the fear of death, that submission to be "put in
the hole," with which the child-spirit passed into wide spaces. They
lighted six candles, three at the head and three at the feet, that the
mother might see the face of her child, and because light not darkness
befits death. To Hester they symbolized the forms of light that sat, one
at the head and one at the foot of the place where the body of Jesus had
lain.
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