not rest, without having performed the last solemn duty—She went to look on her father's beloved face, now pale and set in the cold rigidity of death—She knelt down there quite alone, no one watched beside the deserted coffin, but the lonely and heart-stricken orphan, who past the night in prayer. The next day brought neither comfort nor hope—her poor little afflicted sister followed her about the darkened house, like her shadow, looking ill and pale, but lacking the power to express her sympathy, or lessen either fear, or sorrow, by the kindly intercourse of words.
Her mother's state was deplorable, she sank beneath the pressure of misfortune, without an effort at self-control, or exertion—to lie on the sofa, and cry herself to sleep, was all of which she was as yet capable. She was only roused into something like anger, by her favourite maid leaving her, as she had an offer from a lady who was about to travel, and had always so much admired her style of doing Mrs. Beaumont's hair.
