ster
Mrs. Stephen Brigham, who had been Emma Glynn, the one beauty of the
family. She was beautiful still, with a large, splendid, full-blown
beauty; she filled a great rocking-chair with her superb bulk of
femininity, and swayed gently back and forth, her black silks
whispering and her black frills fluttering. Even the shock of death
(for her brother Edward lay dead in the house,) could not disturb her
outward serenity of demeanour. She was grieved over the loss of her
brother: he had been the youngest, and she had been fond of him, but
never had Emma Brigham lost sight of her own importance amidst the
waters of tribulation. She was always awake to the consciousness of
her own stability in the midst of vicissitudes and the splendour of her
permanent bearing.

But even her expression of masterly placidity changed before her sister
Caroline's announcement and her sister Rebecca Ann's gasp of terror and
distress in response.

"I think Henry might have controlled his temper, when poor Edward was
so near his end," said she with an asperity which disturbed slightly
the roseate curves of her beautiful mouth.

"Of course he did not _know_," murmured Rebecca Ann in a faint tone
strangely out of keeping with her appearance.

One involuntarily looked again to be sure that such a feeble pipe came
from that full-swelling chest.

"Of course he did not know it," said Caroline quickly. She turned on
her sister with a strange sharp look of suspicion. "How could he have
known it?" said she. Then she shrank as if from the other's possible
answer. "Of course you and I both know he could not," said she
conclusively, but her pale face was paler than it had been before.

Rebecca gasped again. The married sister, Mrs. Emma Brigham, was now
sitting up straight in her chair; she had ceased rocking, and was
eyeing them both intently with a sudden accentuation of family likeness
in her face. Given one common intensity of emotion and similar lines
showed forth, and the three sisters of one race were evident.

"What do you mean?" said she impartially to them both. Then she, too,
seemed to shrink before a possible answer. She even laughed an evasive
sort of laugh. "I guess you don't mean anything," said she, but her
face wore still the expression of shrinking horror.

"Nobody means anything," said Caroline firmly. She rose and crossed
the room toward the door with grim decisiveness.

"Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Brigham