ween the pages at
which she had arrived when she laid it down for ever; there the cup
from which she drank but a few hours back; there the toilet, with all
its little knick-knacks, and the glass which so often mirrored her
sweet face.

Thus Conrad instinctively interpreted the glances which Mr Harrenburn
directed at the objects around him. The bereaved father standing
motionless, regarded one thing and then another with a sort of absent
attention, which, under other circumstances, would have appeared like
imbecility or loss of self-command, but now was full of a
deeply-touching significance, which roused the sympathies of the young
painter more powerfully than the finest eloquence could have done. He
seemed at first to shun the bed, as if the object lying there were too
powerful a source of grief to bear--seemed to be anxious to discover
in some minor souvenirs of sorrow, a preparatory step, which should
enable him to approach with seemly and rational composure the mute
wreck of his beloved child--the cast-shell of the spirit which had
been the pride and joy, the hope and comfort of his life. But
presently he succeeded in mastering this sensibility, and approaching
the bed, motioned Conrad to follow him. He gently drew aside the
curtain which had concealed the face of the figure that was lying
there. Conrad started. Could that be death? That hair, so freshly
black and glossy; those slightly-parted lips, on which the light of
fancy still seemed to play; the teeth within, so white and
healthy-looking; the small, well-shapen hand and arm, so listlessly
laid along the pillow: could these be ready for the grave? It seemed
so much like sleep, and so little like death, that Conrad, who had
never looked upon the dead before, was amazed. When he saw the eyes,
however, visible betwixt the partly-opened lids, his scepticism
vanished. The cold, glazed, fixed unmeaningness of them chilled and
frightened him--they did really speak of the tomb.

'My daughter,' said Mr Harrenburn, to whose tone the effort of
self-command now communicated a grave and cold severity. 'She died at
four this afternoon, after a very short illness--only in her twentieth
year. I wish to have her represented exactly as she lies now. From the
window there, in the daytime, a strong light is thrown upon this spot;
so that I do not think it will be needful to make any new disposition
either of the bed or its poor burden. Your easel and other matters
shall be bro