nd again, one
little outpost of death had invaded a level spread of turf, much in the
manner of human beings who dislike, and live remote from, their kind.

But it was the personal application of all she saw before her which
tugged at her heartstrings. It made her rage to think that the little
life to which her agony of body had given birth should be torn from the
warmth of her arms to sleep for ever in this unnatural solitude. It
could not be. She despairingly rebelled against the merciless fate
which had overridden her. In her agony, she beat the stones of the
parapet with her hands. Perhaps she believed that in so doing she would
awaken to find her sorrows to have been a horrid dream. The fact that
she did not start from sleep brought home the grim reality of her
griefs. There was no delusion: her baby lay dead at home; her lover, to
whom she had confided her very soul, was to be married to someone else.
There was no escape; biting sorrow held her in its grip. She was borne
down by an overwhelming torrent of suffering; she flung herself upon
the parapet and cried helplessly aloud. Someone touched her arm. She
turned, to see Trivett's homely form.

"I can't bear it: I can't, I can't!" she cried.

Trivett looked pitifully distressed for a few moments before saying:

"Would you like me to play?"

Mavis nodded.

"I don't know if the church is open; but, if it is, they've been
decorating it for--for--Would you very much mind?"

"Play to me: play to me!" cried Mavis.

The musician, whose whole appearance was eloquent of the soil, clumped
across the gravelled path of the churchyard, followed by Mavis. He
tried many doors, all of which were locked, till he came to a small
door in the tower; this was unfastened.

He admitted Mavis, and then struck a wax match to enable her to see.
The cold smell of the church at once took her mind back to when she had
entered it as a happy, careless child. With heart filled with dumb
despair, she sat in the first seat she came to. As she waited, the
gloom was slowly dissipated, to reveal the familiar outlines of the
church. At the same time, her nostrils were assailed by the pervading
and exotic smell of hot-house blooms.

The noise made by the opening of the organ shutters cracked above her
head and reverberated through the building. While she waited, none of
the sacred associations of the church spoke to her heart; her soul was
bruised with pain, rendering her incapable of being