e gates, carriage after
carriage follows in the rear; and the sorrowful crowd increases around
them. Many have in their hands the Bibles and prayer-books which had
been given them by her who now lies in yonder hearse; and a few can
recollect the day when the late lord of Yatton led her along from the
church to the Hall, his young and blooming bride--in pride and joy--and
they are now going to lay her beside him again! They are met at the
entrance of the little churchyard, by good Dr. Tatham, in his surplice,
bareheaded, and with book in hand; with full eye and quivering lip he
slowly precedes the body into the church. His voice frequently trembles,
and sometimes he pauses while reading the service. Now they are standing
bareheaded at the vault's mouth--the last sad rites are being performed;
and probably, as is thinking the chief mourner, over the last of his
race who will rest in that tomb!

Long after the solemn ceremony was over, the little churchyard remained
filled with mournful groups of villagers and tenants, who pressed
forward to the dark mouth of the vault, to take their last look at the
coffin which contained the remains of her whose memory would live long
in all their hearts. "Ah, dear old Madam," quoth Jonas Higgs to himself,
as he finished his dreary day's labors, by temporarily closing up the
mouth of the vault, "they might have turned thee, by-and-by, out of
yonder Hall, but they shall not touch thee _here_!"

Thus died, and was buried, Madam Aubrey; _and she is not yet forgotten_.

How desolate seemed the Hall, the next morning, to the bereaved inmates,
as, dressed in deep mourning, they met at the cheerless breakfast-table!
Aubrey kissed his wife and sister--who could hardly answer his brief
inquiries. The gloom occasioned throughout the Hall, for the last ten
days, by the windows being constantly darkened--now that the blinds were
drawn up--had given way to a staring light and distinctness, which
almost startled and offended the eyes of those whose hearts were dark
with sorrow as ever. Every object reminded them of the absence of
_one_--whose chair stood empty in its accustomed place. There, also, was
her Bible, on the little round table near the window! The mourners
seemed relieved by the entrance, by-and-by, of the children; but they
also were in mourning! Let us, however, withdraw from this scene of
suffering, where every object, every recollection, every association,
causes the wounded heart to