it
flapped a moment as the door opened, and then hung motionless. The
outline of a human form beneath was visible, and when Miss Thusa lifted
her in her arms and carried her to the spot, Helen was conscious of an
awful curiosity growing up within her that was stronger than her
terrors. Her breath came quick and short, a film came over her eyes, and
cold drops of sweat stood upon her forehead, yet she would not now have
left the room without penetrating into the mystery of death. Miss Thusa
laid her hand upon the sheet and turned it back from the pale and
ghastly face, on whose brow the mysterious signet of everlasting rest
was set. Still, immovable, solemn, placid--it lay beneath the gaze, with
shrouded eye, and cheek like concave marble, and hueless, waxen lips.
What depth, what grandeur, what duration in that repose! What
inexpressible sadness, yet what sublime tranquillity! Helen held her
breath, bending slowly, lower and lower, as if drawn down by a mighty,
irresistible power, till her cheek almost touched the clay-cold cheek
over which she leaned. Then Miss Thusa folded back the sheet still
farther, and exposed the shrouded form, which she had so carefully
prepared for its last dread espousals. The fragrance of white roses and
geranium leaves profusely scattered over the body, mingled with the cold
odor of mortality, and filled the room with a deadly, sickening perfume.
White roses were placed in the still, white, emaciated hands, and lay
all wilted on the unbreathing bosom.

All at once a revulsion took place in the breast of Helen. It mocked
her--that silent, rigid, moveless form. She felt so cold, so deadly cold
in its presence, it seemed as if all the warmth of life went out within
her. She began to realize the desolation, the loneliness of the future.
The cry of orphanage came wailing up from the depths of her heart, and
bursting from her lips in a loud piercing shriek, she sprang forward and
fell perfectly insensible on the bosom of the dead.

"I wish I had not _forced_ her to go in," exclaimed the father, as he
hung with remorseful anguish over the child. "Great Heaven! must I lose
all I hold dear at once?"

"No, no," cried Miss Thusa, making use of the most powerful restoratives
as she spoke, "it will not hurt her. She is coming to already. It's a
lesson she must learn, and the sooner the better. She's got to be
hardened--and if we don't begin to do it the Lord Almighty will. I
remember the saying of an