e in my father's line than mine, I think it is AL, not EL,
and that it seems as if there had been a letter between L and the second
E, which is now effaced. The tomb itself is not likely to belong to any
powerful family then resident at the place. Their monuments, according
to usage, would have been within the church,--probably in their own
mortuary chapel."

"Don't try to destroy my fancy," said Lily, shaking her head; "you
cannot succeed, I know her history too well. She was young, and some one
loved her, and built over her the finest tomb he could afford; and see
how long the epitaph must have been! how much it must have spoken in
her praise and of his grief. And then he went his way, and the tomb was
neglected, and her fate forgotten."

"My dear Miss Mordaunt, this is indeed a wild romance to spin out of so
slender a thread. But even if true, there is no reason to think that a
life is forgotten, though a tomb be neglected."

"Perhaps not," said Lily, thoughtfully. "But when I am dead, if I can
look down, I think it would please me to see my grave not neglected by
those who had loved me once."

She moved from him as she said this, and went to a little mound that
seemed not long since raised; there was a simple cross at the head and
a narrow border of flowers round it. Lily knelt beside the flowers and
pulled out a stray weed. Then she rose, and said to Kenelm, who had
followed, and now stood beside her,--

"She was the little grandchild of poor old Mrs. Hales. I could not cure
her, though I tried hard: she was so fond of me, and died in my arms.
No, let me not say 'died,'--surely there is no such thing as dying. 'Tis
but a change of life,--

'Less than the void between two waves of air,
The space between existence and a soul.'"

"Whose lines are those?" asked Kenelm.

"I don't know; I learnt them from Lion. Don't you believe them to be
true?"

"Yes. But the truth does not render the thought of quitting this scene
of life for another more pleasing to most of us. See how soft and gentle
and bright is all that living summer land beyond; let us find subject
for talk from that, not from the graveyard on which we stand."

"But is there not a summer land fairer than that we see now; and which
we do see, as in a dream, best when we take subjects of talk from the
graveyard?" Without waiting for a reply, Lily went on. "I planted these
flowers: Mr. Emlyn was angry with me; he said it was 'Popish.' But he