it might be something after eleven, perhaps near upon twelve--and
when I opened it, she whips into the hall without saying a word, walks
into every room in the house--I following her, as a beadle follows a rogue,
till he sees him beyond the parish bounds--and at last takes possession of
your low chair, and, without so much as 'by your leave,' begins to wring
her hands, and cry 'Lord! Lord!'--What do you want, good woman?" said I.
But I might as well have addressed myself to the walls, for 'Lord! Lord!'
was all her moan."

Peverell hastened into the room, and there he saw poor Madge--her face
buried in her hands, rocking to and fro, weeping most piteously, and as
Francis had described, ever and anon calling upon the Lord, but in a tone
of such utter wretchedness, that it pierced his very heart.

He spoke to her. She started up at the sound of his voice, looked at him,
and then mournfully exclaimed, while she pointed to the ground--"They have
buried her!"

"Then be comforted," said Peverell, in a kind and soothing voice; "your
hardest trial is past."

"What a churl he was!" continued Madge, not heeding the words of Peverell;
"I only asked him to keep the grave open till to-morrow, and he denied me!
Only till to-morrow--for then, said I, the cold earth can cover us both.
But he denied me! So I fell upon my knees, beside my Marian's grave, and
prayed that he might never lose a child, to know that blessedness of
sorrow which lies in the thought of soon sleeping with those we have loved
and lost! It was very wrong in me, I know, to wish to call down such
affliction on him--but he denied me--and I had to hear the rattling dust
fall upon her coffin--ay, and to see that dark, deep grave filled up; as
if a mother might not have her own child!"

"Poor afflicted creature!" exclaimed Peverell, in a half whisper to
himself.

"Yes!" said Madge, drying her tears with her hands. "Yes! I have walked
with grief, for my companion in this world, through many a sad and weary
hour. But I shook hands with her, and we parted, at the grave of Marian.
I buried all my troubles there. What is the hour?"

"Hard upon two," replied Peverell.

"Then I must be busy," replied Madge, in a wild, hurried manner, and
smiling at Peverell, with a look of much importance, as if what she had
to do were some profound secret. "You'll not betray me, if I tell you?"
she continued, taking his hand--"Feel!" and she placed it on her heart.
"One, two; one, two;