The last words were spoken aloud, and reached the ears both of the sexton and Emmeline. The old man muttered to himself the word, "Keanton," and scratched his head. The young lady turned her eyes quickly towards Smeaton, but made no comment at the time. The party then, followed by Van Noost, commented on the various things they saw; and the worthy artist in lead enlightened them, from time to time, with opinions on the various monuments. No part of the conversation, however, would be very entertaining to the reader; and with regard to the monuments themselves, only one seemed, even to Smeaton, worthy of remark; this was a small tablet fixed in the lower part of a wall, bearing inscribed upon it the following words: "To the memory of Edward and Henry Newark, sons of Henry Algernon, third baron Newark. They died in infancy." There was no date; but the monument was comparatively new. Dust, indeed, lay on the marble, somewhat obscuring the letters, with a softening effect, like that of Time on the memory of sorrow; but the pure white stone had not yet acquired the yellow tint of age and decay. "I suppose that tablet has not been long put up," said Smeaton, touching it with his hand. "Sixteen years ago, sir, come the day after Michaelmas," replied the old sexton; and there he stopped, evidently not disposed to enter into any particulars regarding the later branches of the Newark family. Smeaton, however, asked no more questions; but, shaking hands with Van Noost, and giving the old man a piece of money, which seemed more than he expected, left the church, and re-mounted with Emmeline. The lady and her companion rode on for a few moments in silence; but, at length; Smeaton said, bending his head and speaking low, "Do you comprehend what you have seen?" She shook her head gravely, and then replied-- "It is like seeing the picture of a city we never visited. There are houses, and streets, and public places; but, unless we have a guide or a map, we know not what they are. The monuments I have already seen; the names upon them I have heard before; but know not to whom or by whom they were erected." Smeaton paused, and gazed at her earnestly, as if he hesitated to proceed. "Dear lady," he said, at length. "I needs must trust you, or rather must trust to your own discretion; for it is yourself and your future fate which is to be influenced by your prudence or imprudence. Let me warn you, however, that your own happiness and the possibility of your obtaining farther information depend upon your concealing from every one that you have received any information at all; but I believe you have a spirit of sufficient power, Emmeline, to govern your words, and even looks, when you know that so much is at stake."