of his
nephew; indeed it was but too evident that his faculties, even if they
had not entirely deserted him, were at least greatly impaired. He never
quitted his couch; he took no notice of what occurred. He evinced no
curiosity, scarcely any feeling. If indeed he occasionally did mutter an
observation, it was generally of an irritable character, nor truly did
he appear satisfied if anyone approached him, save Miriam, from
whom alone he would accept the scanty viands which he ever appeared
disinclined to touch. But his devoted niece, amid all her harrowing
affliction, could ever spare to the protector of her youth a placid
countenance, a watchful eye, a gentle voice, and a ready hand. Her
religion and her virtue, the strength of her faith, and the inspiration
of her innocence, supported this pure and hapless lady amid all her
undeserved and unparalleled sorrows.

It was long past midnight; the young widow of Abner reposed upon a couch
in a soft slumber. The amiable Beruna and the beautiful Bathsheba, the
curtains drawn, watched the progress of the night.

'Shall I wake her?' said the beautiful Bathsheba. 'Methinks the stars
are paler! She bade me rouse her long before the dawn.'

'Her sleep is too benign! Let us not wake her,' replied the amiable
Beruna. 'We rouse her only to sorrow.'

'May her dreams at least be happy;' rejoined the beautiful Bathsheba.
'She sleeps tranquilly, as a flower.'

'The veil has fallen from her head,' said the amiable Beruna. 'I will
replace it lightly on her brow. Is that well, my Bathsheba?'

'It is well, sweet Beruna. Her face shrouded by the shawl is like a
pearl in its shell. See! she moves!'

'Bathsheba!'

'I am here, sweet lady.'

'Is it near dawn?'

'Not yet, sweet lady; it is yet night. It is long past the noon of
night, sweet lady; methinks I scent the rising breath of morn; but still
'tis night, and the young moon shines like a sickle in the heavenly
field, amid the starry harvest.'

'Beruna, gentle girl, give me thy arm. I'll rise.'

The maidens advanced, and gently raising their mistress, supported her
to the window.

'Since our calamities,' said Miriam, 'I have never enjoyed such tranquil
slumber. My dreams were slight, but soothing. I saw him, but he smiled.
Have I slept long, sweet girls? Ye are very watchful.'

'Dear lady, let me bring thy shawl. The air is fresh----'

'But sweet; I thank thee, no. My brow is not so cool as to need a
covering. 'Tis a fair