Soon after this, Nizza Macascree made her appearance, and informed them
that Amabel had fallen into a tranquil slumber, which, in all
probability, would completely renovate her.

"I hope it will," said Wingfield. "But I shall not part with her
to-day."

He then entered into conversation with Nizza, and after a little time,
proposed to her and Leonard to walk across the fields with him to
Willesden, to visit his daughter's grave.

"My wife will take charge of Amabel," he said; "you may safely trust her
in her hands."

Leonard could raise no objection, except the possibility that the Earl
of Rochester and his companions might discover their retreat, and carry
off Amabel in his absence; but, after a little reflection, considering
this altogether unlikely, he assented, and they set out. A pleasant walk
across the fields brought them to the pretty little village of Willesden
and its old and beautiful church. They proceeded to the grave of poor
Sarah Wingfield, which lay at the east of the church, beneath one of the
tall elms, and Nizza, as she stood by the rounded sod covering the
remains of the unfortunate girl, could not restrain her tears.

"This might have been my own fate," she said. "What an escape I have
had!"

"I did not bring you here to read you a lesson," said Wingfield, in a
tone of deep emotion, "but because you, who know the temptation to which
the poor creature who lies there was exposed, will pity her. Not alone
did remorse for her conduct prey upon her spirits--not alone did she
suffer from self-reproach,--but the scoffs and jeers of her sex, who
never forgive an erring sister, broke her heart. She is now, however,
beyond the reach of human malice, and, I trust, at peace."

As he said this, he walked away to hide his emotion, and presently
afterwards rejoining them, they quitted the churchyard together.

As they recrossed the fields, Wingfield observed two men digging a hole
in the ground, and, guessing their object, paused for a few minutes to
watch them. Having thrown out the earth to the depth of a couple of
feet, one of them took a long hooked pole, and attaching it to the body
of a victim to the pestilence, who had wandered into the fields and died
there, dragged it towards the pit. As soon as the corpse was pushed into
its narrow receptacle, the clay was shovelled over it, and trodden down.

"This is a sad mode of burial for a Christian," observed Wingfield. "But
it would not do to leave an i