She ceased, and a drowsy feeling came over her. After a while she opened her eyes with a strange look of anxiety and terror. I went to her, but she could not speak, and she pressed my hand closely, as though she feared I would leave her. It was a momentary terror, for she knew that the last pangs were coming on. There was a painful struggle, and then came rest and peaceful confidence. "That letter," whispered she convulsively; and I went to the Bible, and took from it the soiled paper which claimed her thoughts even in death. I laid it in her trembling hands, which clasped it nervously, and then pressing it to her heart, she fell into that slumber from which there is no awakening.
When I saw that she was indeed gone, I took the letter, and laid it in its accustomed place; and then, after straightening the limbs, and throwing the bed-clothes over the stiffening form, I left the house.
It was a dazzling scene of winter beauty that met my eye as I went forth from that lowly bed of death. The rising sun threw a rosy light upon the crusted snow, and the earth was dressed in a robe of sparkling jewels. The trees were hung with glittering drops, and the frozen streams were dressed in lobes of brilliant beauty.
I thought of her upon whose eyes a brighter morn had beamed, and of a scene of beauty upon which no sun should ever set, and whose never-fading glories shall yield a happiness which may never pass away.
I went home, and told my mother what had passed; and she went, with some others, to prepare the body for burial. I went to look upon it once more, the morning of the funeral. The features had assumed a rigid aspect, but the placid smile was still there. The hands were crossed upon the breast; and as the form lay so still and calm in its snowy robes, I almost wished that the last change might come upon me, so that it would bring a peace like this, which should last for evermore.
I went to the Bible, and took from it that letter. Curiosity was strong within me, and I opened it. It was signed "John L.," and dated from his prison the night before his execution. But I did not read it. O no! it was too sacred. It contained those words of penitence and affection over which her stricken heart had brooded for years. It had been the well-spring from which she had drunk joy and consolation, and derived her hopes of a reunion where there should be no more shame, nor sorrow, nor death.