had shut himself up and left
all the rest to them.

The Egremont family had a sort of enclosure or pen with iron rails
round it close to the church wall, where they rested under flat slabs.
The gate in this was open now, and the new-made grave was one mass of
white flowers,--wreaths and crosses, snowdrops, hyacinths, camellias,
and the like,--and at the feet was a flowerpot with growing plants of
the white hyacinth called in France 'lys de la Vierge.' These, before
they became frequent in England, had been grown in Mr. Dutton's
greenhouse, and having been favourites with Mrs. Egremont, it had come
to be his custom every spring to bring her the earliest plants that
bloomed. Nuttie knew them well, the careful tying up, the neat
arrangement of moss over the earth, the peculiar trimness of the whole;
and as she looked, the remembrance of the happy times of old, the sick
longing for all that was gone, did what nothing had hitherto
effected--brought an overwhelming gush of tears.

There was no checking them now that they had come. She fled into
church on the first sounds of arrival and hid herself in the friendly
shelter of the great family pew; but she had to come out and take her
place, though she could hardly utter a word, and it was all that she
could do to keep from sobbing aloud; she could not hand the babe, and
the Canon had to take on trust the name 'Alwyn Headworth,' for he could
not hear the words that were on her trembling lips.

It was soon over; and while the baby and his attendants, with Miss
Headworth, were being packed into the carriage, and her uncle and aunt
bowing off the grand god-father, she clutched her cousin's arm, and
said, 'Mark; where's Mr. Dutton?'

'I--I didn't know he was coming, but now you ask, I believe I saw him
this morning.'

'I know he is here.'

'Do you want to see him?' said Mark kindly.

'Oh, if I might!'

Then, with a sudden impulse, she looked back into the church, and
recognised a black figure and slightly bald head bowed down in one of
the seats. She pointed him out. 'No doubt he is waiting for us all to
be gone,' said Mark in a low voice. 'You go into the Rectory, Nuttie;
there's a fire in the study, and I'll bring him to you there. I'll get
him to stay the night if I can.'

'Oh, thank you!' and it was a really fervent answer.

Mark waited, and when Mr. Dutton rose, was quite shocked at his
paleness and the worn look on his face, as of one who had struggled
hard