"Because she delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him.
"The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon her, and she caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.
"She was eyes to the blind, and feet was she to the lame.
"She was a mother to the poor."——
Pale as death, the chief mourner, wrapped in his black cloak, is stepping into the mourning-coach. No one speaks to him; his face is buried in his handkerchief; his heart seems breaking. He thinks of her whose dear dust is before him;—then of the beloved beings whom he has left alone in their agony till his return—his wife and sister. The procession is moving slowly on—long, silent rows of the tenantry and villagers, old and young, male and female—not a dry eye among them, nor a syllable spoken—stand on each side of the way; no sound heard but of horses' feet, and wheels crushing along the wet gravel—for the day is most gloomy and inclement. As they quit the gates, carriage after carriage follows in the rear; and the sorrowful crowd increases around them. Many have in their hands the Bibles and prayer-books which had been given them by her who now lies in yonder hearse; and a few can recollect the day when the late lord of Yatton led her along from the church to the Hall, his young and blooming bride—in pride and joy—and they are now going to lay her beside him again! They are met at the entrance of the little churchyard, by good Dr. Tatham, in his surplice, bareheaded, and with book in hand; with full eye and quivering lip he slowly precedes the body into the church. His voice frequently trembles, and sometimes he pauses while reading the service. Now they are standing bareheaded at the vault's mouth—the last sad rites are being performed; and probably, as is thinking the chief mourner, over the last of his race who will rest in that tomb!
Long after the solemn ceremony was over, the little churchyard remained filled with mournful groups of villagers and tenants, who pressed forward to the dark mouth of the vault, to take their last look at the coffin which contained the remains of her whose memory would live long in all their hearts. "Ah, dear old Madam," quoth Jonas Higgs to himself, as he finished his dreary day's labors, by temporarily closing up the mouth of the vault, "they might have turned thee, by-and-by, out of yonder Hall, but they shall not touch thee here!"
Thus died, and was buried, Madam Aubrey; and she is not yet forgotten.
How desolate seemed the Hall, the next morning, to the bereaved inmates, as, dressed in deep mourning, they met at the cheerless breakfast-table! Aubrey kissed his wife and sister—who could hardly answer his brief inquiries. The gloom occasioned throughout the Hall, for the last ten days, by the windows being constantly darkened—now that the blinds were drawn up—had given way to a staring light and distinctness, which almost startled and offended the eyes of those whose hearts were dark with sorrow as ever. Every object reminded them of the absence of one—whose chair stood empty in its accustomed place. There, also, was her Bible, on the little round table near the window! The mourners seemed relieved by the entrance, by-and-by, of the children; but they also were in mourning! Let us, however, withdraw from this scene of suffering, where every object, every recollection, every association, causes the wounded heart to bleed afresh.
Great troubles seem coming upon them; and now that they have buried their dead out of their sight, and when time shall have begun to pour his balm into their present smarting wounds, I doubt not that they will look those troubles in the face, calmly and with fortitude, not forgetful of the last words of her for whom they now mourn so bitterly, and whom, beloved and venerable being! God hath mercifully taken away from evil days that are to come.
After much consideration, they resolved to go, on the ensuing Sunday morning, to church, where neither Mrs. Aubrey nor Kate had been since the illness of her mother. The little church was crowded; almost every one present, besides wearing a saddened countenance, exhibited some outward mark of respect, in their dress—some badge of mourning—such as their little means admitted of. The pulpit and reading-desk were hung in black, as also was Mr. Aubrey's pew—an object of deep interest to the congregation, who expected to see at least some member of the family at the Hall. They were not disappointed. A little before Dr. Tatham took his place in the reading-desk, the well-known sound of the family-carriage wheels was heard as it drew up before the gate; and presently Mr. Aubrey appeared at the church door, with his wife and sister on either arm; all of them, of course, in the deepest mourning—Mrs. and Miss Aubrey's countenances concealed beneath their long crape veils. For some time after taking their seats, they seemed oppressed with emotion, evidently weeping. Mr. Aubrey, however, exhibited great composure, though his countenance bore traces of the suffering he had undergone. Mrs. Aubrey seldom rose from her seat; but Kate stood up, from time to time, with the rest of the congregation; her white handkerchief, however, might have been seen frequently raised to her eyes, beneath her black veil. As the service went on, she seemed to have struggled with some success against her feelings. To relieve herself for a moment from its oppressive closeness, she gently drew aside her veil; and thus, for a few minutes, exhibited a countenance which, though pale and agitated, was inexpressibly beautiful. She could not, however, long bear to face a congregation, every one of whom she felt to be looking on her, and those beside her, with affectionate sympathy; and rather quickly drew down her veil, without again removing it. There was one person present, on whom the brief glimpse of her beauty had produced a sudden, deep, and indelible impression. As he gazed at her, the color gradually deserted his cheek; and his eye remained fixed upon her, even after she had drawn down her veil. He experienced emotions such as he had never known before. So that was Miss Aubrey!