The daughter of Content and Ruth had stolen to its side,
and she had taken her seat, in that species of dull woe, which so
frequently attends the first moments of any unexpected and overwhelming
affliction. She neither spoke, sobbed, nor sorrowed in anyway that grief
is wont to affect the human system. The mind seemed palsied, though a
withering sense of the blow was fearfully engraven on every lineament of
her eloquent face. The color had deserted her cheeks, the lips were
bloodless, while, at moments, they quivered convulsively, like the
tremulous movement of the sleeping infant; and, at long intervals, her
bosom heaved, as if the spirit within struggled heavily to escape from its
earthly prison. The child lay unheeded at her side, and Whittal Ring had
placed himself on the opposite side of the corpse.
The two agents, appointed by the Colony to witness the death of Conanchet,
stood near, gazing mournfully on the piteous spectacle. The instant the
spirit of the condemned man had fled, the prayers of the divine had
ceased, for he believed that then the soul had gone to judgment.
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