Page:Records of the Life of the Rev. John Murray.djvu/118

108 Only a few weeks, a few tremendous weeks, since the commencement of her illness, had rolled on, when, kneeling in speechless agony by her bedside, I saw her breathe her last; she expired without a sigh, without a pang, and I was left to the extreme of wretchedness. A few moments gave me to reflection—I contemplated her form, beautiful even in death; she was now no more a sufferer either in body or mind, and, for a little while, I derived malignant satisfaction, from the consideration of what her brothers would endure, when they found, that, in this world, they should no more behold her. I was shocked at myself; it seemed as if the sainted spirit mildly reproved me; I clasped my hands in agony; I supplicated pardon of the deceased, and of her God. It appeared to me, I had been deficient in affection, and the idea spoke daggers to my soul. Memory cruelly summoned before me many instances, in which she might have been obliged, but distraction was in this thought. I sat in speechless agony by her bedside; having locked the door, no one could obtain entrance. Almighty God, how unutterable were the sorrows of my soul!!!

I was aroused from this state, by the arrival of our brother William. He obtained entrance; he glanced upon the bed—gazed for a moment—averted his eyes—trembled, and became pale as the face of my lamented saint—and at length, in silent agony, quitted the apartment. The good lady of the house now made her appearance, and in a tone of sympathy supplicated me to retire. The necessary offices were performed, and all that remained of my wedded friend was prepared for the undertaker, who came by the order of her opulent brother: that brother, who had nefariously robbed her of her right of inheritance, who contributed so largely, while she lived, to her sufferings, and who now endured anguish more than equivalent, for all the riches of the world. A hearse and mourning coaches attended, and the dear remains, followed by her brothers and their families, were entombed in the family vault. The coachman was directed to convey me, after the interment, to the house of our younger brother. He was again a prey to contrition and to sorrow, and he urged me to cherish hope. I assured him, I had nothing to do with hope, at least in this world. He made great professions of affection, and liberal promises of future kindness; but it was too late; and though I believe he was at the time sincere, yet, when his strong feelings subsided, he was himself again.

Here I close another period of my eventful life! What a sad reverse! A few short weeks since, I was in the mose [sic] enviable circumstances; my situation was charming, my dwelling neat and commodious, my wife,