He laid her head on his bosom, and endeavored to soothe her; but,

clinging to him, she said huskily: "Eugene, with my last breath I implore you; forsake your intemperate

companions. Shun them and their haunts. Let me die feeling that at

least my dying prayer will save you! Oh, when I am gone; when I am

silent in the graveyard, remember how the thought of your

intemperance tortured me! Remember how I remonstrated and entreated

you not to ruin yourself! Remember that I loved you above everything

on earth; and that, in my last hour, I prayed you to save yourself!

Oh, Eugene, for my sake! for my sake! quit the wine-cup, and leave

drunkenness for others more degraded!--Promise me!--Where are you?--

Oh, it is all cold and dark!--I can't see you!--Eugene, promise!

promise!--Eugene--"

Her eyes were riveted on his, and her lips moved for some seconds;

then the clasping arms gradually relaxed; the gasps ceased. Eugene

felt a long shudder creep over the limbs, a deep, heavy sigh passed

her lips, and Cornelia Graham's soul was with its God.

Ah! after twenty-three years of hope and fear, struggling and

questioning, what an exit! Eugene lifted the attenuated form and

placed it on the bed; then threw himself into her vacant chair, and

sobbed like a broken-hearted child. Mr. Graham took his wife from

the room; and, after some minutes, Dr. Hartwell touched the kneeling

figure, with the face still pressed against the chair Eugene now

occupied.

"Come, Beulah; she will want you no more."

She lifted a countenance so full of woe that, as he looked at her,

the moisture gathered in his eyes, and he put his hand tenderly on

her head, saying: "Come with me, Beulah."

"And this is death? Oh, my God, save me from such a death!"

She clasped her hands over her eyes, and shivered; then, rising from

her kneeling posture, threw herself on a couch, and buried her face

in its cushions. That long night of self-communion was never

forgotten.

The day of the funeral was cold, dark, and dismal. A January wind

howled through the streets, and occasional drizzling showers

enhanced the gloom. The parlors and sitting room were draped, and on

the marble slab of one of the tables stood the coffin, covered with

a velvet pall. Once before Beulah had entered a room similarly

shrouded; and it seemed but yesterday that she stood beside Lilly's

rigid form. She went in alone, and waited some moments near the

coffin, striving to calm the wild tumult of conflicting sorrows in

her oppressed heart; then lifted the covering and looked on the

sleeper. Wan, waxen, and silent. No longer the fitful sleep of

disease, nor the refreshing slumber of health, but the still iciness

of ruthless death. The black locks were curled around the forehead,

and the beautiful hands folded peacefully over the heart that should

throb no more with the anguish of earth. Death had smoothed the brow

and put the trembling mouth at rest, and every feature was in

repose. In life she had never looked so placidly beautiful.




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