it in her heart, went into the church-yard,--a regret arising that the
graves that held the columns fallen from the family-corridor had found
so little of place within affection's realm. The regret, growing into
resolution, hastened her steps, that went unto the place devoted to
the dead Percivals. It was in a corner,--the corner wherein grew the
pine-tree of the hills.

"A peaceful spot of earth," I thought, as I went into the hedged
inclosure, and shut myself in with the gleaming marble, and the
low-hanging evergreens that waved their green arms to ward ill away from
those they had grown up among. "It is long since the ground has been
broken here," I thought,--"so long!" And I looked upon a monumental
stone to find there recorded the latest date of death. It was eighteen
hundred and forty-four,--my mother's,--and I looked about and sought
her grave. The grass seemed crispy and dry. I sat down by this grave. I
leaned over it, and looked into the tangled net-work of dead fibres held
fast by some link of the past to living roots underneath. I plucked some
of them, and in idlest of fancies looked closely to see if deeds or
thoughts of a summer gone had been left upon them. "No! I've had enough
of fancies for one day; I'll have no more to-night," I thought; and I
wished for something to do. I longed for action whereon to imprint my
new impress of resolution. It came in a guise I had not calculated upon.

"It's very wrong of you to sit upon that damp ground, Miss Percival."

The words evidently were addressed to me, sitting hidden in among the
evergreens. I looked up and answered,--

"It is not damp, Mr. Axtell."

He was leaning upon the iron railing outside of the hedge.

"Will you come away from that cold, damp place?" he went on.

"I'm not ready to leave yet," I said, and never moved. I asked,--

"How is your sister since morning?"

I thought him offended. He made no reply,--only walked away and went
into the church close by.

"One can never know the next mood that one of these Axtells will take,"
I said to myself, in the stillness that followed his going. "He might
have answered me, at least." Then I reproached Anna Percival for
cherishing uncharity towards tried humanity. There's a way appointed
for escape, I know, and I sought it, burying my face in my hands, and
leaning over the stillness of my mother's heart. I heard steps drawing
near. Looking up, I saw Mr. Axtell entering the inclosure. He had
brought o