on of water which flowed beneath her. The movement of the
stream seemed, in some measure, to assuage her grief, perhaps because
her mind, seeking any means of preservation, seized upon the moving
water, this providing the readiest distraction that offered.

Mavis walked along the bank (shadowed by the faithful Trivett) in the
direction of her nook. Still with the same detachment of mind which had
affected her when she had looked at the stars in the Broughton Road,
she paused at the spot where she had first seen Perigal parting the
rushes upon the river bank. Unknown to him, she had marked the spot
with three large stones, which, after much search, she had discovered
in the adjacent meadow. As of old, the stones were where she had placed
them. Something impelled her to kick them in the river, but she forbore
as she remembered that this glimpse of Perigal which they commemorated
was, in effect, the first breath which her boy had drawn within her.
And now---! Mavis was racked with pain. As if to escape from its
clutch, she ran across the meadows in the direction of Melkbridge,
closely followed by Trivett. Memories of the dead child's father
crowded upon her as she ran. It seemed that she was for ever alone,
separated from everything that made life tolerable by an impassable
barrier of pain. When she came to the road between the churchyard and
the cemetery, she felt as if she could go no further. She was bowed
with anguish; to such an extent did she suffer, that she leaned on the
low parapet of the cemetery for support. The ever-increasing colony of
the dead was spread before her eyes. She examined its characteristics
with an immense but dread curiosity. It seemed to Mavis that, even in
death, the hateful distinctions between rich and poor found expression.
The well-to-do had pretentious monuments which bordered the most
considerable avenue; their graves were trim, well-kept, filled with
expensive blooms, whilst all that testified to remembrance on the part
of the living on the resting-places of the poor were a few wild flowers
stuck in a gallipot. Away in a corner was the solid monument of the
deceased members of a county family. They appeared, even in death, to
shun companionship with those of their species they had avoided in
life. It, also, seemed as if most of the dead were as gregarious as the
living; well-to-do and poor appeared to want company; hence, the graves
were all huddled together. There were exceptions. Now a