"She has fainted. This has been too much for her," said Mrs. Fanning, catching up the vial of ammonia and coming with the intention of administering it.
"She is neither sleeping nor swooning. She has risen," said Emma.
And, calmly putting aside the useless drug, she arose and reverently pressed a kiss upon the lifeless lips.
A moment of deep silence followed her words.
Then Dr. Jones, the son, himself an aged man, drew near and tenderly took up the lifeless hand and looked into the motionless face, and with a profound sigh turned away.
While this group was still gathered around the chair of death, the door was silently opened and the family physician entered the room and stood among them.
"She is gone, Doctor Willet," said the son, turning to greet the new-comer.
The physician nodded gravely to the sorrowing speaker, bowed to the assembled friends, and passed through them, as they made way for him to approach the body. He felt the wrist, where there was no pulse, looked into the eyes, where there was no light, and then, with a grave and silent nod, he confirmed the opinion of Dr. Jones.
Electra, who had been incredulous all this time about the reality of the death, and was anxiously watching the face of the physician, now burst into violent weeping, and had to be led from the room by Joseph Brent—Victor Hartman.
Emma stood, pale as marble, with her eyes cast down, her lips lightly pressed together, and her hands closely clasped.