“It is only her body that is dead, I know.  But the hands had caressed me and the lips kissed me; and, right or wrong, I love that body as well as the heavenly soul that lived within it!  The flesh cleaves to the flesh.  And so long as we are in the flesh we will, we must, haunt the shrines that contain the bodies of those we love,” she thought, as reverently she entered the chamber of death, closed the door, and went up to the bed whereon lay the tenantless temple in which so lately lived the most loving, the most patient spirit she had ever known!

But what is this!  Into what strange sphere of ineffable peace has Cora entered?  She could not understand the change that came over her.  She had a gentle impulse to close her eyes to all visible matters and yield herself up to the sweetness of this sphere.  Her dear one was living, was young again, was happy, was sleeping, watched by angels, who would presently awaken her to the eternal life.

Cora knelt down by the bed and lifted up her heart to the Lord of life in silent, wordless, thoughtless, profoundly quiet aspiration.  She did not wish to move or speak, or form a sentence even in her mind.  She found her state a strange one, but she did not even wonder at it, so deep was the calm that enveloped her spirit.

Not long had she knelt there in this rapt serenity, when she was conscious that some one was rapping softly at the door.  This did not disturb her.  She arose from her knees, still in deep peace, went to the door, and said: 

“Presently.  I will open presently.  Wait a moment.”

Then she went back to the bed, turned down the sheet, and gazed upon the beloved face.  How placid it was, and how beautiful.  Death had smoothed every trace of age and care from that little fair old face.  She lay as if sleeping, and almost smiling in her sleep—­

    “As though by fitness she had won
    The secret of some happy dream.”

Cora stooped and kissed the placid brow, then covered the face, and went to open the door.

The gray-haired old Jason was waiting outside.

“If you please, ma’am, it is the—­”

“I know, I know,” said Cora, quietly.  “Show them in.”

And she passed out and went to her own room.

Her front windows were closed; but through the slats of the shutters she saw that it was still snowing fast.

“What a winding sheet this will make for her grave,” she thought, as she looked out upon the wintry scene.

There was no wind, the fine white snow fell softly and steadily, giving only the dimmest view of the government house on the opposite side of the square draped in mourning.

The funeral of Mrs. Rockharrt took place on the third day after her death.  The snow had ceased, and the winter sun was shining brightly from a clear blue sky on a white world, whose trees wore pendent diamonds instead of green leaves, and as every house in the city was hung in black for the dead governor, the effect of all this glare and glitter and gloom was very weird and strange, as the funeral cortege passed from the Rockharrt home to the Church of the Lord’s Peace.