"There is good hope now that she will die a peaceable death;
but, if she is disturbed, the boldest of us will not dare to stand by her
bedside."
The whisper by which her sister endeavored to preserve quiet perhaps
reached the ears of the dying female; for she now raised herself in bed,
slowly, but with a strength superior to what her situation promised. Her
face was ghastly and wild, from long illness, approaching death, and
disturbed intellect; and a disembodied spirit could scarcely be a more
fearful object than one whose soul was just struggling forth. Her sister,
approaching with the soft and stealing step appropriate to the chamber of
sickness and death, attempted to replace the covering around her, and to
compose her again upon the pillow. "Lie down and sleep, sister," she said;
"and, when the day breaks, I will waken you. Methinks your breath comes
freer already. A little more slumber, and to-morrow you will be well."
"My illness is gone: I am well," said the dying-woman, gasping for breath.
"I wander where the fresh breeze comes sweetly over my face; but a close
and stifled air has choked my lungs."
"Yet a little while, and you will no longer draw your breath in pain,"
observed her sister, again replacing the bedclothes, which she continued
to throw off.
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