iline, his chin shaded by
a little tuft of white beard, while projecting cheek-bones threw a harsh
shadow upon the hollow and wrinkled cheeks. His countenance was full of
intelligence, fine sharpness, and sagacity. On his broad, high forehead
one might read frankness, honesty, and firmness; his eyes, black and
brilliant as an Arab's, were at once mild and piercing.

His wife, Bathsheba, some fifteen years younger than himself, was of
tall stature, and dressed entirely in black. A low cap, of starched
lawn, which reminded one of the grave head-dresses of Dutch matrons,
encircled a pale and austere countenance, formerly of a rare and haughty
beauty, and impressed with the Scriptural character. Some lines in the
forehead, caused by the almost continual knitting of her gray brows,
showed that this woman had often suffered from the pressure of intense
grief.

At this very moment her countenance betrayed inexpressible sorrow. Her
look was fixed, her head resting on her bosom. She had let her right
hand, which held a small account-book, fall upon her lap, while the
other hand grasped convulsively a long tress of jet-black hair, which
she bore about her neck. It was fastened by a golden clasp, about an
inch square, in which, under a plate of crystal, that shut in one side
of it like a relic-case, could be seen a piece of linen, folded square,
and almost entirely covered with dark red spots that resembled blood a
long time dried.

After a short silence, during which Samuel was occupied with his
register, he read aloud what he had just been writing: "Per contra,
5,000 Austrian Metallics of 1,000 florins, under date of October 19th,
1826."

After which enumeration, Samuel raised his head, and said to his wife:
"Well, is it right, Bathsheba? Have you compared it with the account
book?"

Bathsheba did not answer. Samuel looked at her, and, seeing that she was
absorbed in grief, said to her, with an expression of tender anxiety:
"What is the matter? Good heaven! what is the matter with you?"

"The 19th of October, 1826," said she, slowly, with her eyes still
fixed, and pressing yet more closely the lock of black hair which she
wore about her neck; "It was a fatal day--for, Samuel, it was the date
of the last letter which we received from--"

Bathsheba was unable to proceed. She uttered a long sigh, and concealed
her face in her hands.

"Oh! I understand you," observed the old man, in a tremulous voice; "a
father may be tak