Owing to the nature of his death, that collapse which causes the flesh to shrink almost immediately after the spirit has departed was not visible here.  The face was rather full and livid, but the expression was not such as penitence or a conviction of crime could be supposed to have left behind it.  On the contrary, the whole countenance had somewhat of a placid look, and the general contour was unquestionably that of affection and benevolence.

It was easy, however, to perceive that this agonizing restraint upon the feelings of that loving wife could not last long, and that the task which the poor woman was endeavoring to perform in deference to the conventional opinions of society was beyond her strength.  Hers, indeed, was not a common nor an undivided sorrow; for, alas, she had not only the loss of her kind husband and his ignominious death to distract her, but the shame and degradation of their only daughter which occasioned it; and what a trial was that for a single heart!  From time to time a deep back-drawing sob would proceed from her lips, and the eye was again fixed upon the still and unconscious features of her husband.  At length the chord was touched, and the heart of the wife and mother could restrain itself no longer.  The children had been for some time whispering together, evidently endeavoring to keep the youngest of them still; but they found it impossible—­he must go to awaken his daddy.  This was too much for them, and the poor things burst out into an uncontrollable wail of sorrow.  The conversation among the spectators was immediately hushed; but the mother started to her feet, and turning to the bed, bent over it, and raised a cry of agony such as I never heard nor hope ever to hear again.  She clapped her hands, and rocking herself up and down over him, gave vent to her accumulated grief, which now rushed like a torrent that had been dammed up and overcome its barriers, from her heart.

“O Harry,” said she in Irish—­but we translate it—­“O Harry, the husband of the kind heart, the loving father, and the good man!  O Harry, Harry, and is it come to this with you and me and our childre!  They may say what they will, but you’re not a murderer.  It was your love for our unfortunate Nannie that made you do what you did.  O, what was the world to you without her!  Wasn’t she the light of your eyes, and the sweet pulse of your loving heart!  And did ever a girl love a father as she loved you, till the destroyer came across her—­ay, the destroyer that left us as we now are, sunk in sorrow and misery that will never end in this world more!  And now, what is she, and what has the destroyer made her?  O, when I think of how you sought after her you loved as you did, to take her life, and when I think of how she that loved you as she did was forced to fly from the hand that would pluck out your own heart sooner than injure a hair of her head—­so long as she was innocent—­O, when I think of all this, and look upon you lying there now, and