The moon, "that sun of the sleepless," that star of the mourner, shone full on her brow, and I smiled to see how divinely fair, how placid, how angelic she looked.

Her dark, shining hair, the long dark lashes that pencilled her white cheek, alone prevented her from seeming a statue of the purest marble, fashioned after some Grecian model.

Beauty and youth had come back to her reposing features, and peace and rapture too.

A smile, such as no living lips ever wore, lingered round her mouth and softened its mute expression.
She was happy.

God had given his beloved rest.