She was silent for a few moments, lifting up her eyes, and the hand her
cousin held not between his. Then, O Death! said she, where is thy
sting! [the words I remember to have heard in the burial-service read
over my uncle and poor Belton.] And after a pause--It is good for me
that I was afflicted! Words of scripture, I suppose.

Then turning towards us, who were lost in speechless sorrow--O dear, dear
gentlemen, said she, you know not what foretastes--what assurances--And
there she again stopped, and looked up, as if in a thankful rapture,
sweetly smiling.

Then turning her head towards me--Do you, Sir, tell your friend that I
forgive him!--And I pray to God to forgive him!--Again pausing, and
lifting up her eyes as if praying that He would. Let him know how
happily I die:--And that such as my own, I wish to be his last hour.

She was again silent for a few moments: and then resuming--My sight
fails me!--Your voices only--[for we both applauded her christian, her
divine frame, though in accents as broken as her own]; and the voice of
grief is alike in all. Is not this Mr. Morden's hand? pressing one of
his with that he had just let go. Which is Mr. Belford's? holding out
the other. I gave her mine. God Almighty bless you both, said she, and
make you both--in your last hour--for you must come to this--happy as I
am.

She paused again, her breath growing shorter; and, after a few minutes
--And now, my dearest Cousin, give me your hand--nearer--still nearer
--drawing it towards her; and she pressed it with her dying lips--God
protect you, dear, dear Sir--and once more, receive my best and most
grateful thanks--and tell my dear Miss Howe--and vouchsafe to see, and to