Chapter 9

"I knew that we must part--no power could save
Thy quiet goodness from an early grave:
Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they cast,
Looking a sister's fondness to the last;
Thy lips so pale, that gently press'd my cheek;
Thy voice--alas! Thou could'st but try to speak;--
All told thy doom; I felt it at my heart;
The shaft had struck--I knew that we must part."

Sprague.

It is not easy to describe the sensation of loss that came over me after
the interment of my sister. It is then we completely feel the privation
with which we have met. The body is removed from out of our sight; the
places that knew them shall know them no more; there is an end to all
communion, even by the agency of sight, the last of the senses to lose its
hold on the departed, and a void exists in the place once occupied. I felt
all this very keenly, for more than a month, but most keenly during the
short time I remained at Clawbonny. The task before me, however, will not
allow me to dwell on these proofs of sorrow, nor do I know that the reader
could derive much advantage from their exhibition.

I did not see Rupert at the funeral. That he was there I knew, but either
he, himself, or Lucy for him, had managed so well, as not to obtrude his
person on my sight. John Wallingford, who well knew my external or visible
relation to all the Hardinges, thinking to do me a pleasure, mentioned, as
the little procession returned to the house, that young Mr. Hardinge had,
by dint of great activity, succeeded in reaching Clawbonny in time for the
funeral. I fancy that Lucy, under the pretence of wishing his escort,
contrived to keep her brother at the rectory during the time I was abroad.

On reaching the house, I saw all my connexions, and thanked them in person
for this proof of their respect for the deceased. This little duty
performed, all but John Wallingford took their leave, and I was soon left
in the place alone with my bachelor cousin. What a house it was! and what
a house it continued to be as long as I remained at Clawbonny! The
servants moved about it stealthily; the merry laugh was no longer heard in
the kitchen; even the heavy-footed seemed to tread on air, and all around
me appeared to be afraid of disturbing the slumbers of the dead. Never
before, nor since, have I had occasion to feel how completely a negative
may assume an affirmative character, and become as positive as if it had a
real existence. I thought I could _see_ as well as feel my sister's
absence from the scene in which she had once been so conspicuous an actor.

As none of the Hardinges returned to dinner, the good divine writing a
note to say he would see me in the evening after my connexions had
withdrawn, John Wallingford and