Mrs. Rosebrook listens to the recital of the melancholy scene with
astonishment and awe. "How death grapples for us!" she exclaims, her
soft, soul-beaming eyes glaring with surprise. "How it cuts its way
with edge unseen. Be calm, be calm, Franconia; you have nobly done
your part,--nobly! Whatever the pecuniary misfortunes,--whatever the
secret cause of his downfall, you have played the woman to the very
end. You have illustrated the purest of true affection; would it had
repaid you better. Before daylight-negroes are, in consequence of
their superstition, unwilling to remove the dead at midnight-I will
have the body removed here,--buried from my house." The good woman
did not disclose to Franconia that her husband was from home, making
an effort to purchase Harry's wife and children from their present
owner. But she will do all she can,--the best can do no more.
At the gaol a different scene is presented. Harry, alone with the
dead man, waits Daddy's return. Each tap of the bell awakes a new
hope, soon to be disappointed. The clock strikes eleven: no Daddy
returns. The gates are shut: Harry must wile away the night, in this
tomb-like abode, with the dead. What stillness pervades the cell;
how mournfully calm in death sleeps the departed! The watcher has
read himself to sleep; his taper, like life on its way, has nearly
shed out its pale light; the hot breath of summer breathes balmy
through the lattice bars; mosquitoes sing their torturous tunes
while seeking for the dead man's blood; lizards, with diamond eyes,
crawl upon the wall, waiting their ration: but death, less
inexorable than creditors, sits pale king over all.
Pages:
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617