From an invisible corner of the garden, Eglah came slowly toward the arbor. Her mourning gown of lustreless, thin black silk fitted perfectly the curves of her finely moulded figure, and at her throat she had fastened a spray of white star jasmine. High on her head the glossy, gold-flecked chestnut hair was piled in soft loose coils and puffs that caught the sunshine as she walked, holding in the clasp of one arm a sheaf of long-stemmed lilies. Advancing until she reached the hat, she leaned down, swung the knotted ribbons over her right wrist, and stood a moment listening to the peaceful woodland message of the lark. Three years had wrought a marvellous change. The rich promise of her youth had expanded into an almost flawless loveliness. A certain girlish slimness had given place to the fuller, rounded lines of graceful, perfect womanhood, and over the pathetic, pale face had settled a passionless repose that comes only when hope is dead, and silent pride sits on its tombstone. As she held the lilies with her left arm, the hand gleamed white against the folds of her black dress, and the wedding ring flashed. Her cold, exquisite purity matched that of a Roman vestal on her way to shrines, but her large brown eyes, looking far away, were so darkened by shadows of mournful memory, of helpless yet uncomplaining renunciation, that Mr. Herriott could not endure the sight. He threw his hand across his face, and strangled the impulse to spring to her side, to catch her in his arms. When he looked again, she had walked away toward the house. With a book in her hand, Mrs. Mitchell ran down the steps. "I am waiting for the flowers, before I close the box for the little bride. These lilies are just what she needs for the altar. Give them to me." Then a low, sweet, sad voice swept the heartstrings of the man who watched and listened. "Do not forget to send my present. I put my card inside the case. Dear little Minna, I hope she may be happy. If her husband really loves her, she enters her heaven; but if not, the poor little thing will soon wish the burial instead of marriage service had been read over her to-night. I trust the child may never find out that a tolling bell is sweeter than a wedding peal. You found my Baedeker?" "Yes, in the mill where you left it a week ago." "I must look out one or two points in it, and the air is so deliciously sweet I think I shall stay a while in the garden on this last Dingle day, unless you need me to help you." "There is nothing for you to do inside; everything is ready." "Ma-Lila, you have been crying! What makes you so nervous? You are trembling." "Oh, I feel upset! Leaving Robert's lonely grave, and all." The girl stooped, and kissed her cheek. "It seems very selfish to ask you to leave a place so dear to you; but I hope God will begin to pity me at last, and call me soon where I shall trouble no one any more. Then----" Mrs. Mitchell laid the lilies on her lips to close them.