“Dead? Do you mean dead? Oh, no, sir! no, sir! say he is not dead.”
“Poor child! my saying that will not bring him to life. He has ceased to suffer! and we must all bow to the will of Heaven!”
With a low, inarticulate, sobbing moan, like the last utterance of a breaking heart, the poor girl sank upon the bed beside her father’s body, and buried her face on his cold bosom.
There was no violent demonstration of sorrow. After that first broken-hearted sob and moan she lay as patient, as silent, and as motionless as the dead beside her.
They let her remain for a little time, during which they stood in reverent silence around the bed of death; and then the doctor said:
“She must be removed. She will make no resistance; she is too much prostrated to do so.”
And Mrs. Corder went and tenderly raised the light form in her own strong, motherly arms, murmuring:
“La! she has no more solidness in her nor a poor little starved sparrow in the hard frost.”
“Bring her into my room, and lay her upon my bed, dear Mrs. Corder, and then, while you attend to the dead, I will do all I can for the living,” said Eudora, gravely leading the way from the chamber of death.
Mrs. Corder followed with her light burden, carrying it, as she had been desired, to Eudora’s room, deposited it carefully upon her bed, and then withdrew to render the necessary services elsewhere.