boat capsized. He had stood on the shore and just finished fastening his
own boat, for he well knew the signs of the storm, when he caught sight
of the little sail scudding with lightning-speed to the landing.
Suddenly it stopped short, shook all over as if in an ague, and capsized
in an instant. The storm broke, and although he tried to discern some
traces of the boat or its occupants, nothing could be seen but the white
foam on the black water, glistening like a shark's teeth when he has
seized his prey. In the early morning he had found two bodies on the
sand. The water, he said, must have tossed them with considerable
force,--yet not against the rocks at all, for they were not disfigured,
nor their clothing much torn. As the man ceased relating the story, the
bodies were brought past us, covered by a piano-cloth which somebody had
considerately snatched up and taken to the shore. They were placed in
the long parlor on a table.

My husband beckoned to me to come to him. Turning down the cloth, he
showed me the faces I dreamily expected to see. I don't know when I
thought of it, but suppose I recognized the air and movement so
familiar, even in the distant dimness. No matter how clearly and fully
death is expected, when it comes it is with a death-shock,--how much
more, coming as this did, as if with a bolt from the clear sky!

In their prime,--in their beauty,--in their pride of youth,--in their
pleasure, they died. What was the strong man or the smiling woman,--what
was the smooth sea, the shining sail,--what was strength, skill,
loveliness, against the great and terrible wind of the Lord?

So here they lay, white and quiet as sculptured stone, and as placid as
if they had only fallen asleep in the midst of the tempestuous uproar.
All the clamor and talking about the house had subsided in the real
presence of death; and every one went lightly and softly around, as if
afraid of wakening the sleepers.

She had never looked so beautiful, even in her utmost pride of health
and bloom. Her dark luxuriant hair lay in masses over brow and bosom,
and her face expressed the unspeakable calm and perfect peace which are
suggested only by the sleep of childhood. The long eyelashes seemed to
say, in their close adherence to the cheek, how gladly they shut out the
tumult of life; and the whole cast of the face was so elevated by death
as to look rather angelic than mortal.

His face was quiet, too,--the manliness and massive