I said, death laid its hand gently on one so gentle and so lovely.

Week after week she lingered, almost imperceptibly fading, passing away like a soft rolling cloud that melts into the sky.

The pestilence had stayed its ravages.

The terror, the thick gloom had passed by.
If I looked abroad at sunset, I could see the windows of the village mansions, crimsoned and glowing with the last flames of day; but no light was reflected on our darkened home.

It was all in shadow.