Крамка старожитностей

Chapter 71

           There,uponherlittlebed,shelayatrest.Thesolemnstillnesswasnomarvelnow.

           Shewasdead.Nosleepsobeautifulandcalm,sofreefromtraceofpain,sofairtolookupon.SheseemedacreaturefreshfromthehandofGod,andwaitingforthebreathoflife;notonewhohadlivedandsuffereddeath.

           Hercouchwasdressedwithhereandtheresomewinterberriesandgreenleaves,gatheredinaspotshehadbeenusedtofavour.‘WhenIdie,putnearmesomethingthathaslovedthelight,andhadtheskyaboveitalways.’Thosewereherwords.

           Shewasdead.Dear,gentle,patient,nobleNellwasdead.Herlittlebirdapoorslightthingthepressureofafingerwouldhavecrushedwasstirringnimblyinitscage;andthestrongheartofitschildmistresswasmuteandmotionlessforever.

           Wherewerethetracesofherearlycares,hersufferings,andfatigues?Allgone.Sorrowwasdeadindeedinher,butpeaceandperfecthappinesswereborn;imagedinhertranquilbeautyandprofoundrepose.

           Andstillherformerselflaythere,unalteredinthischange.Yes.Theoldfiresidehadsmileduponthatsamesweetface;ithadpassed,likeadream,throughhauntsofmiseryandcare;atthedoorofthepoorschoolmasteronthesummerevening,beforethefurnacefireuponthecoldwetnight,atthestillbedsideofthedyingboy,therehadbeenthesamemildlovelylook.Soshallweknowtheangelsintheirmajesty,afterdeath.

           Theoldmanheldonelanguidarminhis,andhadthesmallhandtightfoldedtohisbreast,forwarmth

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