THE COMPLETION OF MISCHANCE Upon Emily had fallen silence.

The tongue which for three months had incessantly sounded in her ears, with its notes of wailing, of upbraiding, of physical pain, of meaningless misery, was at rest for ever.

As she stood beside the grave--the grave whose earth had not had time to harden since it received her father--she seemed still to hear that feeble, querulous voice, with its perpetual iteration of her own name; the casting of clay upon the coffin made a sound not half so real.
Returning home, she went up to the bedroom with the same hurried step with which she had been wont to enter after her brief absences.

The bed was vacant; the blind made the air dim; she saw her breath rise before her.
There remained but a little servant-girl, who, coming to the sitting-room to ask about meals, stood crying with her apron held to her eyes.

Emily spoke to her almost with tender kindness.