How to give such ease to a soul in death?

The bitterness of death came into her marred with the sun face at sight of them, and she raised her hands to Auntie—to the only other mother there—with a sudden helpless cry—I could bear it, I could bear it, if it weren't for them. Without any mother all their lives—such little things—and to go away where I can't do a single thing for them! Aunt Winifred stooped down and spoke low, but decidedly. You will do for them. God knows all about it. He will not send you away from them. You shall be just as much their mother, every day of their lives, as you have been here. Perhaps there is something to do for them which you never could have done here. He sees. He loves them. He loves you. If I could paint, I might paint the look that struck through and through that woman's dying face—but words cannot touch it. If I were Aunt Winifred, I should bless God on my knees tonight for having shown me how to give such ease to a soul in death.