Donne, Sally imagined that it was but a piece of sad
civility to invite him upstairs to see the poor dead body, which
she had laid out and decked for the grave, with such fond care
that she had grown strangely proud of its marble beauty.
Mr. Donne was glad enough of any proposal of a change from the
cold and comfortless room where he had thought uneasy, remorseful
thoughts. He fancied that a change of place would banish the
train of reflection that was troubling him; but the change he
anticipated was to a well-warmed, cheerful sitting-room, with
signs of life, and a bright fire therein, and he was on the last
flight of stairs--at the door of the room where Ruth lay--before
he understood whither Sally was conducting him. He shrank back
for an instant, and then a strange sting of curiosity impelled
him on. He stood in the humble low-roofed attic, the window open,
and the tops of the distant snow-covered hills filling up the
whiteness of the general aspect. He muffled himself up in his
cloak, and shuddered, while Sally reverently drew down the sheet,
and showed the beautiful, calm, still face, on which the last
rapturous smile still lingered, giving an ineffable look of
bright serenity. Her arms were crossed over her breast; the
wimple-like cap marked the perfect oval of her face, while two
braids of the waving auburn hair peeped out of the narrow border,
and lay on the delicate cheeks.
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