eculiarly awful and
impressive to Henrietta's present state of mind. Uncle Geoffrey led her
on into the chancel, where, among numerous mural tablets recording
the names of different members of the Langford family, was one chiefly
noticeable for the superior taste of its Gothic canopy, and which bore
the name of Frederick Henry Langford, with the date of his death, and
his age, only twenty-six. One of the large flat stones below also had
the initials F.H.L., and the date of the year. Henrietta stood and
looked in deep silence, Beatrice watching her earnestly and kindly, and
her uncle's thoughts almost as much as hers, on what might have been.
Her father had been so near him in age, so constantly his companion, so
entirely one in mind and temper, that he had been far more to him than
his elder brother, and his death had been the one great sorrow of Uncle
Geoffrey's life.

The first sound which broke the stillness was the opening of the
door, as the old clerk's wife entered with a huge basket of holly, and
dragging a mighty branch behind her. Uncle Geoffrey nodded in reply to
her courtesy, and gave his daughter a glance which sent her to the other
end of the church to assist in the Christmas decorations.

Henrietta turned her liquid eyes upon her uncle. "This is coming very
near him!" said she in a low voice. "Uncle; I wish I might be quite sure
that he knows me."

"Do not wish too much for certainty which has not been granted to us,"
said Uncle Geoffrey. "Think rather of 'I shall go to him, but he shall
not return to me.'"

"But, uncle, you would not have me not believe that he is near to me
and knows how--how I would have loved him, and how I do love him," she
added, while the tears rose to her eyes.

"It may be so, my dear, and it is a thought which is not only most
comforting, but good for us, as bringing us closer to the unseen world:
but it has not been positively revealed, and it seems to me better to
dwell on that time when the meeting with him is so far certain that it
depends but on ourselves."

To many persons, Uncle Geoffrey would scarce have spoken in this way;
but he was aware of a certain tendency in Henrietta's mind to merge the
reverence and respect she owed to her parents, in a dreamy unpractical
feeling for the father whom she had never known, whose voice she had
never heard, and from whom she had not one precept to obey; while she
lost sight of that honour and duty which was daily called for towa