entire suit of mourning, which she prevailed upon Salome to accept
and wear; and, on the morning of the funeral, the latter went down
early into the draped and darkened parlor, where the coffin and its
cold tenant awaited the last offices that dust can perform for dust.

She had not spoken to Dr. Grey for twenty-four hours, and, finding him
beside the table where his sister's body lay, the orphan would have
retreated, but he caught the rustling sound of her crape and
bombazine, and held out his hand.

"Come in, Salome."

She took no notice of the offered fingers, but passed him, and went
around the table to the opposite side.

The wrinkled, sallow face, still wore its tranquil half-smile, and,
under the cap-border of fine lace, the grizzled hair lay smooth and
glossy on the sunken temples.

In accordance with a wish which she had often expressed, the ghostly
shroud was abandoned, and Miss Jane was dressed in her favorite black
silk. Salome had gathered a small bouquet of the fragile white
blossoms of apple-geranium, of which the old lady was particularly
fond, and, bending over the coffin, she laid them between the fingers
that were interlaced on the pulseless heart.

With a quiet mournfulness, more eloquent than passionate grief, the
girl stood looking for the last time at the placid countenance that
had always beamed kindly and lovingly upon her since that dreary day,
when, under the flickering shadow of the mulberry-tree, she had called
her from the poor-house and given her a happy home.

She stooped to kiss the livid lips, that had never spoken harshly to
her; and, for some seconds, her face was hidden on the bosom of the
dead. When she raised it, the dry, glittering eyes and firm mouth,
betokened the bitterness of soul that no invectives could exhaust, no
language adequately express.

"Dr. Grey, if the exchange could be made, I would not only willingly,
but gladly, thankfully, lie down here in this coffin, and give your
sister back to your arms. The Reaper, Death, has cut down the perfect,
golden grain, and left the tares to shiver in the coming winter. Some
who are useless and life-weary bend forward, hoping to meet the
sickle, but it sweeps above them, and they wither slowly among the
stubble."

He looked at her, and found it difficult to realize that the pale,
quiet, stern woman, standing there in sombre weeds, was the same fair
young face that he had seen thirty-six hours before in the moonlight
th