d or curious
eyes which were to look upon her. There 'was no painful change to be
concealed by any artifice. Even her round neck was left uncovered, that
she might be more like one who slept. Only the golden cord was left in
its place: some searching eye might detect a trace of that birthmark
which it was whispered she had always worn a necklace to conceal.

At the last moment, when all the preparations were completed, Old Sophy
stooped over her, and, with trembling hand, loosed the golden cord. She
looked intently; for some little space: there was no shade nor blemish
where the ring of gold had encircled her throat. She took it gently away
and laid it in the casket which held her ornaments.

"The Lord be praised!" the old woman cried, aloud. "He has taken away
the mark that was on her; she's fit to meet his holy angels now!"

So Elsie lay for hours in the great room, in a kind of state, with
flowers all about her,--her black hair braided as in life,--her brows
smooth, as if they had never known the scowl of passion,--and on her lips
the faint smile with which she had uttered her last "Good--night." The
young girls from the school looked at her, one after another, and passed
on, sobbing, carrying in their hearts the picture that would be with them
all their days. The great people of the place were all there with their
silent sympathy. The lesser kind of gentry, and many of the plainer folk
of the village, half-pleased to find themselves passing beneath the
stately portico of the ancient mansion-house, crowded in, until the ample
rooms were overflowing. All the friends whose acquaintance we have made
were there, and many from remoter villages and towns.

There was a deep silence at last. The hour had come for the parting
words to be spoken over the dead. The good old minister's voice rose out
of the stillness, subdued and tremulous at first, but growing firmer and
clearer as he went on, until it reached the ears of the visitors who were
in the far, desolate chambers, looking at the pictured hangings and the
old dusty portraits. He did not tell her story in his prayer. He only
spoke of our dear departed sister as one of many whom Providence in its
wisdom has seen fit to bring under bondage from their cradles. It was
not for us to judge them by any standard of our own. He who made the
heart alone knew the infirmities it inherited or acquired. For all that
our dear sister had presented that was interesting