minutes longer; and she died on my bosom like the infant that breathes its
last in the arms of its mother. Her lips moved several times; once I
fancied I caught the name of "Lucy," though I have reason to think she
prayed for us all, Rupert included, down to the moment she ceased
to exist.



Chapter VIII.



"There have been sweet singing voices
In your walks that now are still;
There are seats left void, in your earthly homes,
Which none again may fill."

Mrs. Hemans.


I never saw the body of my sister, after I handed it, resembling a
sleeping infant, to the arms of Lucy. There is a sort of mania in some, a
morbid curiosity, to gaze on the features of the dead; but, with me, it
has ever been the reverse. I had been taken to the family room to
contemplate and weep over the faces of both my parents, but this was at an
age when it became me to be passive. I was now at a time of life when I
might be permitted to judge for myself; and, as soon as I began to think
at all on the subject, which was not for some hours, however, I resolved
that the last look of love, the sweet countenance, sinking in death it is
true, but still animate and beaming with the sentiments of her pure heart,