whose arm, hanging down, gave to another
officer the hand. Such a scene soon attracted general attention. In a few
minutes a couch, by the junction of two or three chairs, was made, and on
that the body laid. The soldiers who had formed the support, with arms
grounded and grief deeply marked on their countenances, presented a
melancholy group; whilst the young officer, kneeling by the couch, and
gazing intently on his friend, but served to heighten the melancholy of the
scene. A long silence of anxiety, interrupted but by the rolling of the
thunder and the pattering of the rain, ensued. "'Tis no use," at length
exclaimed the friend of the wounded man, "'tis now no use even to hope, my
brave fellows; the surgeon was deceived, and rash to consent to his
removal. Your commander has sunk beneath the fatigue. I thought it would be
so. Peace," he exclaimed, as the tears fell fast from his eyes, "peace to
thy manes, brave, generous St. Clair." An agonizing shriek from above
startled all; and in another moment the lady (the traveller in the
diligence) fell on what appeared to be the soldier's bier. "Heavens! what
dream is this?" exclaimed the officer who had been so assiduous in his
attention to the unfortunate man; "my sister here!--let me intreat, let me
beg--" "No, Albert Fitzalleyn--no, brother, no," uttered Mrs. St. Clair,
"remove me not--I am calm, resigned, very, very calm--I expected this--if I
cannot live I can die with him. St. Clair, awake--your wife, your Charlotte
calls--what not one smile?--look here," she cried, pulling the frightened,
trembling, weeping child towards the body, "your child, your boy, your
dearest Edward calls for you too. O, agony! he does not move. Dead! no, no,
it cannot be--my life, my love, my husband." And there was something, it
did seem, in that sweet voice which reached the dying warrior's heart, for
he opened those eyes already partly glazed with the film of death, and if
in them expression remained, it beamed on his afflicted wife. Reason and
strength too returned, but their dominion was momentary, for with one hand
feebly grasping that of his wife, his other resting on the head of his dear
boy, and his sunken eyes directed from the one to the other, the brave, the
respected, the beloved St. Clair died! He sank on the rough, uncouth couch,
and with him the senseless form of his fond wife. The stillness of the
corpse scarcely surpassed that which for a time was reigning over the group
asse