never-ending hostility. Her hands! They were clenched in immitigable defiance. Away with the hideous thought! The flitting moment after Zenobia sank into the dark pool—when her breath was gone, and her soul at her lips—was as long, in its capacity of God's infinite forgiveness, as the lifetime of the world!
Foster bent over the body, and carefully examined it.
"You have wounded the poor thing's breast," said he to Hollingsworth; "close by her heart, too!"
"Ha!" cried Hollingsworth, with a start.
And so he had, indeed, both before and after death!
"See!" said Foster. "That's the place where the iron struck her. It looks cruelly, but she never felt it!"
He endeavored to arrange the arms of the corpse decently by its side. His utmost strength, however, scarcely sufficed to bring them down; and rising again, the next instant, they bade him defiance, exactly as before. He made another effort, with the same result.
"In God's name, Silas Foster," cried I, with bitter indignation, "let that dead woman alone!"
"Why, man, it's not decent!" answered he, staring at me in amazement. "I can't bear to see her looking so! Well, well," added he, after a third effort, "'t is of no use, sure enough; and we must leave the women to do their best with her, after we get to the house. The sooner that's done, the better."
We took two rails from a neighboring fence, and formed a bier by laying across some boards from the bottom of the boat. And thus we bore Zenobia home ward. Six hours before, how beautiful! At midnight, what a horror! A reflection occurs to me that will
