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The cold daybreak was just opening, though the wind still blew
keenly, when they found the body of Emilia. It was swathed in
a roll of sea-weed, lying in the edge of the surf, on a broad,
flat rock near where the young boatman had come ashore. The
face was not disfigured; the clothing was only torn a little,
and tangled closely round her; but the life was gone.
It was Philip who first saw her; and he stood beside her for a
moment motionless, stunned into an aspect of tranquility.
This, then, was the end. All his ready sympathy, his wooing
tenderness, his winning compliances, his self-indulgent
softness, his perilous amiability, his reluctance to give pain
or to see sorrow,--all had ended in this. For once, he must
force even his accommodating and evasive nature to meet the
plain, blank truth. Now all his characteristics appeared
changed by the encounter; it was Harry who was ready,
thoughtful, attentive,--while Philip, who usually had all these
traits, was paralyzed among his dreams. Could he have fancied
such a scene beforehand, he would have vowed that no hand but
his should touch the breathless form of Emilia. As it was, he
instinctively made way for the quick gathering of the others,
as if almost any one else had a better right to be there.
The storm had blown itself out by sunrise; the wind had
shifted, beating down the waves; it seemed as if everything in
nature were exhausted. The very tide had ebbed away. The
light-ship rested between the rocks, helpless, still at the
mercy of the returning waves, and yet still upright and with
that stately look of unconscious pleading which all shipwrecked
vessels wear. it is wonderfully like the look I have seen in
the face of some dead soldier, on whom war had done its worst.
Every line of a ship is so built for motion, every part, while
afloat, seems so full of life and so answering to the human
life it bears, that this paralysis of shipwreck touches the
imagination as if the motionless thing had once been animated
by a soul.
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