"Lucy bore away the child from the chamber of death, and I closed her white
eyelids, and laid her hands upon her breast. Beautiful was she in death:
she had done with pain and tears forever.

"I never can forget," continued Cousin Janet, after a pause of a few
moments, "Lucy's grief. She wept unceasingly by Ellen's side, and it was
impossible to arouse her to a care for her own health, or to an interest in
what was passing around. On the day that Ellen was to be buried, I went to
the room where she lay prepared for her last long sleep. Death had laid a
light touch on her fair face. The sweet white brow round which her hair
waved as it had in life--the slightly parted lips--the expression of
repose, not only in the countenance, but in the attitude in which her old
nurse had laid her, seemed to indicate an awakening to the duties of life.
But there was the coffin and the shroud, and there sat Lucy, her eyes heavy
with weeping, and her frame feeble from long fasting, and indulgence of
bitter, hopeless grief.

"It was in the winter, and a severe snow-storm, an unusual occurrence with
us, had swept the country for several days; but on this morning the wind
and clouds had gone together, and the sun was lighting up the hills and
river, and the crystals of snow were glistening on the evergreens that
stood in front of the cottage door. One ray intruded through the shutter
into the darkened room, and rested on a ring, which I had never observed
before, on Ellen's left hand. It was on the third finger, and its
appearance there was so unexpected to me, that for a moment my strength
forsook me, and I leaned against the table on which the coffin rested, for
support.

"'Lucy,' I said, 'when was that placed there?'