"True," put in Mrs. Trim; who had deemed it neighbourly to look in upon the widow Bell at this sorrowful hour and see what was to be seen. "They funerals don't waait for nobody: specially when they heve been put off aalmost to sunset." "No; it will not do to keep it waiting," breathed Rosaline, with weak and trembling lips. "Do you go on; all of you. I will follow if I am able, and catch you up." Nancy Tomson feebly offered to remain with her, seeing that good feeling demanded as much consideration, but she did not at all mean the offer to be accepted, for she would not have missed the ceremony for the world. It was not every day she had the chance of filling a conspicuous position at a funeral; and such a funeral as this. Rosaline promptly declined her company, saying she felt much better now, and preferred to come after them alone. So the mourners departed, followed at a respectful distance by many neighbours and others, who had collected to watch and wait for their exit. The chief crowd had gathered about that other building, for which these were making their way. Men, women and children, all went tramping towards it across the Plain: and in a few minutes Bleak Row was as absolutely deserted as though it were a city of the dead. Rosaline slowly rose from her seat, dragged her chair outside, and sat down in the evening sunshine. Thankful was she to be alone. No eye was on her. The houses were empty; the Bare Plain, stretching out around and beyond, lay silent and still, save for that moving mass of human beings, pressing farther and farther away in the distance. The open air seemed necessary to her if she would continue to breathe. When somewhat more composed, she put up her hands in the attitude of prayer, bent forward till her forehead touched them, and sat with her eyes closed. A Prayer-book lay on her knee. She had brought it out, intending to follow the service, soon about to begin. But she could not do so. There she sat, never once moving her attitude, scattered passages of the service recurring now and again to her memory, and ascending to heaven from the depths of her anguished heart. Poor Rosaline Bell! There were moist eyes and wrung feelings amidst those mourners standing round the grave, but none of them could know anything of the desperate distress that was _her_ portion. None, none.