ription met my
eyes--the hard, clear, cruel black letters which told the story of her
life and death. I tried to read them. I did read as far as the name.
"Sacred to the Memory of Laura----" The kind blue eyes dim with
tears--the fair head drooping wearily--the innocent parting words which
implored me to leave her--oh, for a happier last memory of her than
this; the memory I took away with me, the memory I bring back with me
to her grave!

A second time I tried to read the inscription. I saw at the end the
date of her death, and above it----

Above it there were lines on the marble--there was a name among them
which disturbed my thoughts of her. I went round to the other side of
the grave, where there was nothing to read, nothing of earthly vileness
to force its way between her spirit and mine.

I knelt down by the tomb. I laid my hands, I laid my head on the broad
white stone, and closed my weary eyes on the earth around, on the light
above. I let her come back to me. Oh, my love! my love! my heart may
speak to you NOW! It is yesterday again since we parted--yesterday,
since your dear hand lay in mine--yesterday, since my eyes looked their
last on you. My love! my love!

* * * * * * * * * *

Time had flowed on, and silence had fallen like thick night over its
course.

The first sound that came after the heavenly peace rustled faintly like
a passing breath of air over the grass of the burial-ground. I heard it
nearing me slowly, until it came changed to my ear--came like
footsteps moving onward--then stopped.

I looked up.

The sunset was near at hand. The clouds had parted--the slanting light
fell mellow over the hills. The last of the day was cold and clear and
still in the quiet valley of the dead.

Beyond me, in the burial-ground, standing together in the cold
clearness of the lower light, I saw two women. They were looking
towards the tomb, looking towards me.

Two.

They came a little on, and stopped again. Their veils were down, and
hid their faces from me. When they stopped, one of them raised her
veil. In the still evening light I saw the face of Marian Halcombe.

Changed, changed as if years had passed over it! The eyes large and
wild, and looking at me with a strange terror in them. The face worn
and wasted piteously. Pain and fear and grief written on her as with a
brand.

I took one step towards her from the grave. She never moved--she never
spo