, and regard me not."

In another minute we were both sitting on a newly-made grave, the little
girl weeping in the innocent excess of that sorrow that brings its own
sweet relief.

My at first low and almost inaudible murmurs gradually grew more loud
and more impassioned. At last they aroused the attention of my weeping
companion, and she said to me, artlessly, "It is of no use taking on in
this way, sir; she can never speak up from the grave. She is in heaven
now; and God does not permit any of His blessed saints to speak to us
sinners below."

"You are quite right, my good girl," said I, ashamed of this betrayal of
my emotion. "It is very foolish indeed to be talking to the dead over
their damp graves, and not at all proper. But I have a great fancy to
stay here a little while by myself. Pray go and wait for me at the end
of the lane. I will not keep you long, and I have something to say to
you."

"I will do as you tell me, sir, most certainly. I will tell you all
about her death, for I was a sort of help to the nurse. I know you now,
sir, and thought I knew you from the first."

I shall not repeat the extravagances that I uttered when alone. I was
angry with myself and with all the world; and I fear that I exasperated
myself with the thought that I did not sufficiently feel the grief with
which I strove to consecrate my loss. I remember, I concluded my
rhapsody thus:

"Again I call upon you by the sacred name of mother--for such you were--
and no other will my heart ever acknowledge. I adjure you to hear me
swear that I will have all the justice done to your memory that man can
do! and may we never meet in those realms where only the injured find
redress, if I fail to scatter this sacred earth in token of dishonour
upon the head of him who has dishonoured you--were he even my own
father! It is an oath. May it be recorded, should that record be used
as my sentence of death!"

Having made this harsh and impious vow, the effect of over-excitement, I
tore a considerable portion of the earth from the grave, and, folding it
in my handkerchief I knotted it securely, and placed it round my heart
next to my skin, like those belts that are worn by Roman Catholics as
instruments of penance.

With a wish for something very like the shedding of blood in my heart,
and with a fervent prayer in my imagination and on my lips, I left Mrs
Cherfeuil's humble grave, and joined my companion.

In one little half-h