“Lilian, aged six years and four months”—that was the legend her little coffin bore. “Lilian!” No fear of offending the unities now, she was gone where names do not convey much meaning. “Six years and four months!” She was gone, also, where age and time are not of much account either. Poor Lally—nay, happy Lally—to have had a life at once so bright and so short, so brimful of everything which can be packed by possibility into the longest span of human existence. Sunshine and mirth, and love and friendship, and care and devotion. What—though “finis” was written to the earthly story after a few short chapters—say, friends, was the story less round and perfect in its symmetry for that? Was the ending in Fifield churchyard all sorrow? Nay, rather there came a time when Heather was able to think, almost with thankfulness, of that child face which should never grow old, nor changed, nor wrinkled, nor careworn, nor other than innocent and pure, waiting for her in that far-off land, where the “ransomed of the Lord shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” All who had been so kind to her in her first illness, came to see the last they could of “poor little Lally Dudley,” together with those who had grown fond of the child towards the end. Alick was glad there were so many round the grave, for he felt that the presence of strangers would exercise a beneficial influence on his brother, who had been in such grief all the way down—in such sore distress for the loss of the little one he should never in this world see again. Returning on such an errand to the old place—which he had left with high hopes of success, with almost the certainty, as he thought, of conquering fortune—would have been inexpressibly bitter to Arthur, even without the reflection that his child had died far from him—farther away than though oceans and continents, mountains and rivers, had divided them; and it needed all his strength to carry him through the ordeal bravely, and with good courage. Mr. Croft was present; but from him, Alick Dudley kept aloof. Even amongst the moss-grown headstones in Fifield graveyard, he could not forget what he had seen amidst the tombs at North Kemms. He would not break faith with Bessie; but he could not be cordial to the man, although he had been kind to Heather and fond of Lally. Alick was able, perhaps, now to guess the reason of his fancy for the child; but that did not soften him much towards the offender.