e in her last days."

That same summer we reached America, and for the first time since I had
left it I went to the ferry. The house was still imposing, the
prestige of the Haverford grandeur still lingered; but it looked
forlorn and uncared for. It seemed very familiar; but the months I had
spent there were so long ago, that they seemed almost to belong to
another life. I sat alone on the doorstep for a long time, where I
used often to watch for Lady Ferry; and forgotten thoughts and dreams
of my childhood came back to me. The river was the only thing that
seemed as young as ever. I looked in at some of the windows where the
shutters were put back, and I walked about the garden, where I could
hardly trace the walks, all overgrown with thick, short grass though
there were a few ragged lines of box, and some old rose-bushes; and I
saw the very last of the flowers,--a bright red poppy, which had
bloomed under a lilac-tree among the weeds.

Out beyond the garden, on a slope by the river, I saw the family
burying-ground, and it was with a comfortable warmth at my heart that I
stood inside the familiar old enclosure. There was my Lady Ferry's
grave; there could be no mistake about it, and she was dead. I smiled
at my satisfaction and at my foolish childish thoughts, and thanked God
that there could be no truth in them, and that death comes surely,--say
rather that the better life comes surely--though it comes late.

The sad-looking, yellow-topped cypress, which only seems to feel quite
at home in country burying-grounds, had kindly spread itself like a
coverlet over the grave, which already looked like a very old grave;
and the headstone was leaning a little, not to be out of the fashion of
the rest. I traced again the words of old Colonel Haverford's pompous
epitaph, and idly read some others. I remembered the old days so
vividly there; I thought of my cousin Agnes, and wished that I could
see her; and at last, as the daylight faded, I came away. When I
crossed the river, the ferry-man looked at me wonderingly, for my eyes
were filled with tears. Although we were in shadow on the water, the
last red glow of the sun blazed on the high gable-windows, just as it
did the first time I crossed over,--only a child then, with my life
before me.

I asked the ferry-man some questions, but he could tell me nothing: he
was a new-comer to that part of the country. He was sorry that the
boat was not in better order; but