Miss Rossiter was not there. She had told Mrs. Barton not to expect her. It would be too great a strain upon her nerves to see that doll in Emily’s place, with everybody looking at her, and some admiring her, as no doubt they would. She had called her “a doll,” and Mrs. Barton was prepared for a pink-and-white expressionless creature, with some claims to good looks, and an unmistakably lower-class air about her, but she was not prepared for this superb beauty, who took her breath away, and made her mentally revoke her promise not to call or notice her in any way. It would not do to slight that woman, who would lead Hampstead, and New York, too, if she tried, and Mrs. Barton did not propose to do it. She would rather run the risk of offending Miss Rossiter; and when at last church was out, and they were waiting for the carriages outside the door, she managed to get introduced, and presented her daughter Rosamond, who, for the remainder of the day, raved about the beauty and grace and style of Mrs. Schuyler. Little Gertie half stopped as if to claim acquaintance, but Mary Rogers led her away, and I saw the child look back several times at the lady, to whom she had not yet spoken, and whom she was to meet first at the grave of Abelard Lyle. Godfrey had said to her, “I must go to the grave to-morrow after dinner,” and as she wished to water the flowers and root up any weed which might have come to sight since her last visit, she resolved to be there before him and enjoy his surprise. She knew dinner at Schuyler Hill was served at two o’clock on Sundays, and as Godfrey was not likely to get out before three she had plenty of time, and after her own early dinner started for the cemetery. There was not much to be done, for the grave was like a pretty flower-bed, and after pulling a weed or two, and digging around a heliotrope, she sat down to rest at the foot of the monument. Gertie was rather tired, and the day was warm and Godfrey long in coming, and at last she fell asleep with her head against the marble, and did not hear the sound of footsteps on the grassy path which led across the lawn to the yard. Some one was coming, but it was not Godfrey. He was sitting with Alice upon the balcony, and asking her if she expected a new pupil at the Mission that afternoon, and if she’d like him to go with her. Colonel Schuyler was taking his Sunday nap in his easy-chair, and thus left to herself Edith had resolved upon a visit to the grave, toward which she had looked so many times since her arrival at Schuyler Hill. Only once before had she been in that yard, and that when she planted the rosebush which now twined about the monument, and made a screen from the sun for the little girl sleeping so sweetly there.