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Who has done this bloody
deed?"
Her husband made no reply, but stood, leaning on his rifle, looking
sadly, but with an unaltered eye, at the mangled remains of his son.
Not so the mother, she threw herself on the earth, and receiving the
cold and ghastly head into her lap, she sat contemplating those
muscular features, on which the death-agony was still horridly
impressed, in a silence far more expressive than any language of
lamentation could have proved.
The voice of the woman was frozen in grief. In vain Ishmael attempted
a few words of rude consolation; she neither listened nor answered.
Her sons gathered about her in a circle, and expressed, after their
uncouth manner, their sympathy in her sorrow, as well as their sense
of their own loss, but she motioned them away, impatiently with her
hand. At times her fingers played in the matted hair of the dead, and
at others they lightly attempted to smooth the painfully expressive
muscles of its ghastly visage, as the hand of the mother is seen
lingering fondly about the features of her sleeping child.


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