Her pulse's beat was failing--failing; the broken heart feebly struggling to its rest; but her sad eyes were still the same, appealing, questioning, rebuking--all without hope of answer or explanation.

So were they when the sobbing fishermen lifted her from the body, so would they be until closed for the last sleep.

It was very cruel.
My father's body lay in the room below, with Uncle Loveday and Mrs.
Busvargus for watchers.

Now and again my uncle would steal softly upstairs, and as softly return with hopelessness upon his face.
The clock downstairs gave the only sound I heard, as it marked the footsteps of the dark angel coming nearer and nearer.

Twice my mother's lips parted as if to speak; but though I bent down to catch her words, I could hear no sound.
So, as I sat and watched her waxen face, all the sweet memories of her came back in a sad, reproachful train.