Go on with the
prayer--you see she is passing fast."
"I'll try, uncle," she replied--"I'll try; but--but--it's hard, hard,
upon me."
She commenced, and by an uncommon effort so far subdued her grief, as
to render her words intelligible. Her eyes, streaming with tears, were
fixed with a mixture of wildness, sorrow, and devotedness, upon the
countenance of her mother, until she had completed her Decade.
Another pause ensued. It was now necessary, according to the order
and form of the Prayer, that Peter should commence and offer up his
supplications for the happy passage from life to eternity of her who
had been his inward idol during a long period. Peter knew nothing about
sentiment, or the philosophy of sorrow; but he loved his wife with the
undivided power of a heart in which nature had implanted her strongest
affections. He knew, too, that his wife had loved him with a strength of
heart equal to his own. He loved her, and she deserved his love.
The pause, when the prayer had gone round to him, was long; those who
were present at length turned their eyes towards him, and the priest,
now deeply affected, cleared his voice, and simply said, "Peter," to
remind him that it was his duty to proceed with the Rosary.
Peter, however, instead of uttering the prayer, burst out into a tide
of irrepressible sorrow.
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