’Your husband, Mrs. Harrington—­I should so much have wished!—­he did not pass away in—­in pain!’

‘He died very calmly, my lady.’

’It is so terrible, so disfiguring, sometimes.  One dreads to see!—­one can hardly distinguish!  I have known cases where death was dreadful!  But a peaceful death is very beautiful!  There is nothing shocking to the mind.  It suggests heaven!  It seems a fulfilment of our prayers!’

‘Would your ladyship like to look upon him?’ said the widow.

Lady Racial betrayed a sudden gleam at having her desire thus intuitively fathomed.

‘For one moment, Mrs. Harrington!  We esteemed him so much!  May I?’

The widow responded by opening the door, and leading her into the chamber where the dead man lay.

At that period, when threats of invasion had formerly stirred up the military fire of us Islanders, the great Mel, as if to show the great Napoleon what character of being a British shopkeeper really was, had, by remarkable favour, obtained a lieutenancy of militia dragoons:  in the uniform of which he had revelled, and perhaps, for the only time in his life, felt that circumstances had suited him with a perfect fit.  However that may be, his solemn final commands to his wife, Henrietta Maria, on whom he could count for absolute obedience in such matters, had been, that as soon as the breath had left his body, he should be taken from his bed, washed, perfumed, powdered, and in that uniform dressed and laid out; with directions that he should be so buried at the expiration of three days, that havoc in his features might be hidden from men.  In this array Lady Racial beheld him.  The curtains of the bed were drawn aside.  The beams of evening fell soft through the blinds of the room, and cast a subdued light on the figure of the vanquished warrior.  The Presence, dumb now for evermore, was sadly illumined for its last exhibition.  But one who looked closely might have seen that Time had somewhat spoiled that perfect fit which had aforetime been his pride; and now that the lofty spirit had departed, there had been extreme difficulty in persuading the sullen excess of clay to conform to the dimensions of those garments.  The upper part of the chest alone would bear its buttons, and across one portion of the lower limbs an ancient seam had started; recalling an incident to them who had known him in his brief hour of glory.  For one night, as he was riding home from Fallow field, and just entering the gates of the town, a mounted trooper spurred furiously past, and slashing out at him, gashed his thigh.  Mrs. Melchisedec found him lying at his door in a not unwonted way; carried him up-stairs in her arms, as she had done many a time before, and did not perceive his condition till she saw the blood on her gown.  The cowardly assailant was never discovered; but Mel was both gallant and had, in his military career, the reputation of being a martinet.  Hence, divers causes were suspected.  The wound failed not to mend, the trousers were repaired:  Peace about the same time was made, and the affair passed over.