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The golden skirts of day were yet lingering upon the hills, but
deep shades obscured the hollow and the pool, as if sombre night
were rising thence to overspread the world. Again that evil woman
began to weave her spell. Long did it proceed unanswered, till the
knolling of a bell stole in among the intervals of her words, like a
clang that had travelled far over valley and rising ground, and was
just ready to die in the air. The lady shook upon her companion's
knees as she heard that boding sound. Stronger it grew and sadder, and
deepened into the tone of a death bell, knolling dolefully from some
ivy-mantled tower, and bearing tidings of mortality and wo to the
cottage, to the hall, and to the solitary wayfarer, that all might
weep for the doom appointed in turn to them. Then came a measured
tread, passing slowly, slowly on, as of mourners with a coffin,
their garments trailing on the ground, so that the ear could measure
the length of their melancholy array. Before them went the priest,
reading the burial service, while the leaves of his book were rustling
in the breeze. And though no voice but his was heard to speak aloud,
still there were revilings and anathemas, whispered but distinct, from
women and from men, breathed against the daughter who had wrung the
aged hearts of her parents- the wife who had betrayed the trusting
fondness of her husband- the mother who had sinned against natural
affection, and left her child to die.
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