"Dead! dead! and I shall see his dear face no more! Oh! why did you not let me die, too? What is my wretched life worth now? One grave might have held us both! My noble, peerless Russell! the light of my solitary life! O God! be merciful! take me with my idol! Take me now!"
Very tenderly and caressingly Irene endeavoured to soothe her—detailed the circumstances of her cousin's death, and pointed her despairing soul to a final reunion.
But no rift appeared in the artist's black sky of sorrow; she had not yet learned that, in drawing near the hand that holds the rod, the blow is lightened, and she bitterly demanded of her Maker to be released from the burden of life.
CHAPTER XXXV
"THE SANCTIFIED DEVOTION AND FULL WORK"
The sunlight of a warm spring day flashed through the open window, and made golden arabesque tracery on the walls, and portraits of the parlour at Huntingdon Hill. The costly crimson damask curtains had long since been cut into shirts for the soldiers, and transported to the army of Tennessee, and air and sunshine entered unimpeded. Electra sat before her canvas in this room, absorbed in the design which now engaged every thought. The witchery of her profession had woven its spell about her, banishing for a time the spectral past.
The extension of the Conscription statute had, several months before, deprived Irene of a valued and trusty overseer; and to satisfy herself concerning the character of his successor, and the condition of affairs at home, she and her uncle had returned to W——, bringing Electra with them.
Irene was with Electra in the parlour.
"What progress are you making, Electra?"