the mantle from his face to look once more upon the cold bed of death, her heart beat violently, and an enthusiasm at the noble sorrow of the countenance stifled her tears; and though the mantle again fell in a moment, enveiling the face, yet it, and the inward agony of feeling that was in the look, was stamped upon her heart for ever. Her eye followed the figure, as the procession moved to perform some other rite, and when it passed the buttress of the mausoleum, her imagination became busy with its image. She thought it to be a face familiar to her (though she had never seen it before), and that it was the same countenance she had looked for all her life, though she had never known it. She might have sat in this dream of fancy till night (for it was painfully sweet), had not the keeper of the keys aroused her. She went, looking upon her feet, with a melancholy aspect to her attendants, and the gates closed upon her. They jarred upon her soul. Then mounting to her mule, she returned home, and shut herself in her chamber.
The fruit of much restlessness was to make inquiries respecting this young stranger. She learned that he was poor, but gentle; that he and his mother were the purchased slaves of her father; that his mother had died with
