The closed eye and compressed lips proclaimed the presence of death.

Life had but recently yielded to the sway of the stern conqueror.

A few hours ago Beloved Hail had eaten and drank on the very spot where his body now reposed.
Bending over his head is his wife; tears fall like rain from her eyes; and as grief has again overcome her efforts at composure, see how she plunges her knife into her arm: and as the warm blood flows from the wound calls upon the husband of her youth! "My son! my son!" bursts from the lips of his aged mother, who weeps at his feet; while her bleeding limbs bear witness to the wounds which she had inflicted upon herself in the agony of her soul.

Nor are these the only mourners.

A crowd of friends are weeping round his body.