It was the night after the funeral. Ellice Lisle, the loving wife,
devoted mother, kind mistress, and generous friend, had been laid
away to rest; over her pulseless bosom had been thrown the red
earth of her adopted Virginia, and, mingled with its mocking
freshness, was the bitter rain of tears from the eyes of all who
had known the lowly sleeper. Even Nature joined the general
weeping; for, though the early morning had been bright and
beautiful, ere the mourners' feet had left the new-made grave, the
skies had lowered, and a gentle rain descended. "You have pity upon
me, O Heaven, and you weep for me, O earth," had exclaimed Duncan
Stuart Lisle, as, leading his little Hubert by the hand, he turned
away from his lost Ellice. As night deepened, the rain increased,
and the darkness became intense. The house-servants, timid and
superstitious, had all congregated in Aunt Amy's cabin. Amidst
their grief, sincere and profound, was yet a subject of
indignation, which acted as a sort of safety-valve to their
over-much sorrowing.
General
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