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Roger Malvin's Burial

           

           "FortheloveofHeaven,Reuben,speaktome!"criedDorcas;andthestrangesoundofherownvoiceaffrightedherevenmorethanthedeadsilence.

           Herhusbandstarted,staredintoherface,drewhertothefrontoftherock,andpointedwithhisfinger.

           Oh,therelaytheboy,asleep,butdreamless,uponthefallenforestleaves!Hischeekresteduponhisarm—hiscurledlockswerethrownbackfromhisbrow—hislimbswereslightlyrelaxed.Hadasuddenwearinessovercometheyouthfulhunter?Wouldhismother’svoicearousehim?Sheknewthatitwasdeath.

           "Thisbroadrockisthegravestoneofyournearkindred,Dorcas,"saidherhusband."Yourtearswillfallatonceoveryourfatherandyourson."

           Sheheardhimnot.Withonewildshriek,thatseemedtoforceitswayfromthesufferer’sinmostsoul,shesankinsensiblebythesideofherdeadboy.Atthatmomentthewitheredtopmostboughoftheoaklooseneditselfinthestillyair,andfellinsoft,lightfragmentsupontherock,upontheleaves,uponReuben,uponhiswifeandchild,anduponRogerMalvin’sbones.ThenReuben’sheartwasstricken,andthetearsgushedoutlikewaterfromarock.Thevowthatthewoundedyouthhadmadetheblightedmanhadcometoredeem.Hissinwasexpiated,—thecursewasgonefromhim;andinthehourwhenhehadshedblooddearertohimthanhisown,aprayer,thefirstforyears,wentuptoHeavenfromthelipsofReubenBourne.

           

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