ave a good rest while I
am gone.'

He assented; and Baptista sallied forth. As she had stated, her first
visit was made to a shop, a draper's. Without the exercise of much
choice she purchased a black bonnet and veil, also a black stuff gown;
a black mantle she already wore. These articles were made up into a
parcel which, in spite of the saleswoman's offers, her customer said
she would take with her. Bearing it on her arm she turned to the
railway, and at the station got a ticket for Redrutin.

Thus it appeared that, on her recovery from the paralysed mood of the
former day, while she had resolved not to blast utterly the happiness
of her present husband by revealing the history of the departed
one, she had also determined to indulge a certain odd, inconsequent,
feminine sentiment of decency, to the small extent to which it could
do no harm to any person. At Redrutin she emerged from the railway
carnage in the black attire purchased at the shop, having during the
transit made the change in the empty compartment she had chosen. The
other clothes were now in the bandbox and parcel. Leaving these at the
cloak-room she proceeded onward, and after a wary survey reached the
side of a hill whence a view of the burial ground could be obtained.

It was now a little before two o'clock. While Baptista waited a
funeral procession ascended the road. Baptista hastened across, and
by the time the procession entered the cemetery gates she had
unobtrusively joined it.

In addition to the schoolmaster's own relatives (not a few), the
paragraph in the newspapers of his death by drowning had drawn
together many neighbours, acquaintances, and onlookers.

Among them she passed unnoticed, and with a quiet step pursued the
winding path to the chapel, and afterwards thence to the grave. When
all was over, and the relatives and idlers had withdrawn, she stepped
to the edge of the chasm. From beneath her mantle she drew a little
bunch of forget-me-nots, and dropped them in upon the coffin. In a
few minutes she also turned and went away from the cemetery. By five
o'clock she was again in Pen-zephyr.

'You have been a mortal long time!' said her husband, crossly. 'I
allowed you an hour at most, mee deer.'

'It occupied me longer,' said she.

'Well--I reckon it is wasting words to complain. Hang it, ye look so
tired and wisht that I can't find heart to say what I would!'

'I am--weary and wisht, David; I am. We can get home tomorrow for