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Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. He had said so. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day.
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