dle with his hand, so as to throw the light full
upon the face of the corpse. It was motionless, as that of an image
carved in stone. No trace of corruption was visible upon the rigid, yet
exquisite tracery of its features. A profuse cloud of raven hair,
escaped from its swathements in the fall, hung like a dark veil over the
bosom and person of the dead, and presented a startling contrast to the
waxlike hue of the skin and the pallid cereclothes. Flesh still adhered
to the hand, though it mouldered into dust within the gripe of Luke, as
he pressed the fingers to his lips. The shroud was disposed like
night-gear about her person, and from without its folds a few withered
flowers had fallen. A strong aromatic odor, of a pungent nature, was
diffused around; giving evidence that the art by which the ancient
Egyptians endeavored to rescue their kindred from decomposition had been
resorted to, to preserve the fleeting charms of the unfortunate Susan
Bradley.

A pause of awful silence succeeded, broken only by the convulsive
respiration of Luke. The sexton stood by, apparently an indifferent
spectator of the scene of horror. His eye wandered from the dead to the
living, and gleamed with a peculiar and indefinable expression, half
apathy, half abstraction. For one single instant, as he scrutinized the
features of his daughter, his brow, contracted by anger, immediately
afterwards was elevated in scorn. But otherwise you would have sought in
vain to read the purport of that cold, insensible glance, which dwelt
for a brief space on the face of the mother, and settled eventually upon
her son. At length the withered flowers attracted his attention. He
stooped to pick up one of them.

"Faded as the hand that gathered ye--as the bosom on which ye were
strewn!" he murmured. "No sweet smell left--but--faugh!" Holding the dry
leaves to the flame of the candle, they were instantly ignited, and the
momentary brilliance played like a smile upon the features of the dead.
Peter observed the effect. "Such was thy life," he exclaimed; "a brief,
bright sparkle, followed by dark, utter extinction!"

Saying which, he flung the expiring ashes of the floweret from his hand.

_CHAPTER II_

_THE SKELETON HAND_

_Duch._ You are very cold.
I fear you are not well after your travel.
Ha! lights.----Oh horrible!

_Fer._ Let her have lights enough.

_Duch._ What witchcraft doth he practise, that he hath