Nor was the calm, dignified countenance on which my eyes
rested, strange in every lineament. The lady was, to all appearance,
somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty, and, for an elderly lady,
handsome. I thought of my remark to Constance about the beauty and
deformity of age, and said to myself, "Here is one who has not lived
in vain."
I arose as she spoke, and answered in the affirmative.
"You have come too late," she said, with a touch of feeling in her
voice.
"Not dead?" I ejaculated.
"Yes, dead. Will you walk up stairs and see her?"
I followed in silence, ascending to the chamber which had been
occupied by Mrs. Allen since the old Captain's death. It was true as
she had said; a ghastly corpse was before me. I use the word
ghastly, for it fully expresses the ugliness of that lifeless face,
withered, marred, almost shorn of every true aspect of humanity. I
laid my hand upon her--the skin was cold. I felt for her pulse, but
there was no sign of motion in the arteries.
"It is over," I said, lifting myself from my brief examination, "and
may God have mercy upon her soul!" The last part of the sentence was
involuntary.
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