"I think I'll go for a little stroll," she said quietly, when she rose from the table, and something in her voice and face prevented any one from hindering her. Out through the garden she went, and along the quiet road, where the soft mist of evening was creeping up and the birds were calling their last good-nights. On she went, and on, until she reached the old grey church, standing so protectingly in the midst of the green graves, which seemed to nestle about its sides as about a mother. Bella opened the churchyard gate and walked along the path to a far corner, where a white headstone gleamed out distinctly from the dark holly hedge behind it. "In loving memory of Isabella, wife of William Hender. Aged 29," ran the inscription. Bella sat down on the curb which outlined the long, narrow grave, and leaned her head against the stone. "Oh, mother, mother, if only you had been here too, everything would have been just right!" She put her arm around the little cross caressingly, and leaned her cheek against it, but the coldness of it brought back to her memory the coldness of her mother's brow when last she had kissed it, and she drew back quickly again. It seemed so hard and unresponsive. "She knows, though she isn't here. I am sure she knows," and she turned her face up to the darkening sky, where already the stars were beginning to shine. "Like silver lamps in a distant shrine, The stars are all shining bright, The bells of the City of God ring out, For the son of Mary is born to-night, The gloom is past, and the morn at last Is coming with Orient Light." The lines and the haunting air of the old carol came pouring into Bella's mind. "It isn't Christmas, but all the rest fits to-night and--and every time," and there in the gathering darkness she sang softly to herself-- "Faith sees no longer the stable floor, The pavement of sapphire is there, The clear light of heaven streams out to the world, And the angels of God are crowding the air, And heaven and earth, through the Spotless Birth, Are at peace on this night so fair." All the way home along the quiet road the lines still haunted her-- "And heaven and earth, through the Spotless Birth, Are at peace on this night so fair." She was singing softly as she reached her own gate. She did not see her father standing inside and looking over it. "Lassie, that's what I was feeling, but didn't know how to put it into words," he said, with an unusual gentleness in his tone. "Oh, father, are you here? Isn't it damp for you to be out?" she asked anxiously, for Bella was always nervous for him. "I couldn't go in, child, till you were home. It seemed to me you weren't happy about something."