. The day's death was exquisite, even human; and
as she gazed on the beautiful corpse lowered amid the fumes of a
thousand censers into an under-world, even Violet's egotism began to
dream.

'The evening is lovely. I am glad; it is the last we shall pass here,'
said the girl pensively, 'and all good-byes are sad.'

'Yes, we have been happy,' said May, 'and I too am sorry to leave; but
then we couldn't spend our lives here. There are plenty of things to be
done at home; and I suppose we shall all get married one of these days?
And there will be balls and parties before we get married. I don't think
that I'd care to get married all at once. Would you, Violet?'

'I don't know. Perhaps not, unless it was to someone very grand indeed.'

'Oh, would you do that? I don't think I could marry a man unless I loved
him,' said May.

'Yes, but you might love someone who was very grand as well as someone
who wasn't.'

'That's true enough; but then--' and May stopped, striving to readjust
her ideas, which Violet's remark had suddenly disarranged. After a pause
she said:

'But does your mother intend to bring you to Dublin for the season? Are
you going to be presented this year?'

'I hope so. Mamma said I should be, last vacation.'

'I shall take good care that I am. The best part of the hunting will be
over, and I wouldn't miss the Castle balls for anything. Do you like
officers?'

The crudity of the question startled Alice, and it was with difficulty
she answered she didn't know--that she had not thought about the matter.

May and Violet continued the conversation; and over the lingering waste
of yellow, all that remained to tell where the sun had set, the night
fell like a heavy, blinding dust, sadly and regretfully, as the last
handful of earth thrown upon a young girl's grave.

IV

In the tiny cornfields the reapers rose from their work to watch the
carriage. Mr. Barton commented on the disturbed state of the country.
Olive asked if Mr. Parnell was good-looking. A railway-bridge was passed
and a pine-wood aglow with the sunset, and a footman stepped down from
the box to open a swinging iron gate.

This was Brookfield. Sheep grazed on the lawn, at the end of which,
beneath some chestnut-trees, was the house. It had been built by the
late Mr. Barton out of a farmhouse, but the present man, having
travelled in Italy and been attracted by the picturesque, had built a
verandah; and for the same reason had insis