He paused, for there was, I knew, a terrible expression in my face; and, unable longer to conceal my emotion, I flung away my sword, muffled my face in my plaid, and burst into tears.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE SUN SHINES AGAIN.
We entered the room where she lay, and the stillness of death was there. We approached her with reverence; and when I stretched my hand towards the veil that covered her, it was with the air of a monk displaying the sacrament, for the remains of those we love are to us the holiest of all holy things.
"Ernestine—oh, my Ernestine!" sobbed the count. I thought that the veil which shrouded her figure moved.
It was but fancy.
We stood silent, for our hearts swelled with the most intense sadness, and were filled by the memory of the past.
Language cannot portray what the count felt, for the shock was so sudden. Within one hour his pale cheek had sunk; his eyes were inflamed, and his voice trembled. The very profundity of the poor father's affliction had dried up the ordinary channels of grief, and thus no tear escaped to relieve his agony.
The face of Ernestine had still its unpleasant expression, and yet, amid its awful stillness, I could have sworn a spasm contracted it.
The coffin was preparing; two of Spynie's soldiers were making it.