midnight
Vesta 's heart fell , as she considered that a woman had best let business alone . The young bride-mourner was an object of mingled admiration and sympathy as she leaned on the arm of a kinsman and entered the Presbyterian kirk . She was considered one of the great beauties of Maryland , and the young Robert Breckenridge , fresh from Kentucky , on a visit to his brother , the pastor , thought he had never seen Vesta 's equal even in Kentucky ; and , as he gazed through her mourning veil , the pastor 's Delaware wife heard him whisper , `` Divinity itself ! '' The clear olive skin , eyes of gray twilight , eyebrows like midnight 's own arches , and luxuriant hair , were touched by grief as if a goddess suffered ; and , in her deep mourning robes , Vesta seemed a monarch 's daughter about to pass through some convent to her sainthood . She had the height to give dignity to this beauty , and the grace to lift pathos above weakness . The minister 's musical tones were wrought to consonance with this noble human model , and he spoke of that ideal motherhood which , to every child at the bier , seems real as the dripping bucket at the fairy 's well -- of mother 's love , trials , weakness , and immortality ; of the absence of her sympathy making the first great bereavement in life 's progress ; of her nature abiding in us and her spirit hovering over , while we live . Painted in the soft hues of personal experience , prescribed to her needs with a physician 's art , doing all that funeral talk can do to raise the final tears from among the heartstrings and pour them in oblation upon the corpse , the pastor 's consolation had the effect of some mesmeric hand that weakens our systems while it sublimates our feelings , and Vesta 's female nature was almost broken down .