Charlecotes innumerable rested in the chancel, and the last heir of the line was laid beneath the same flag where he had been placed on that last Sunday, the spot where Honor might kneel for many more, meeting him in spirit at the feast, and looking to the time when the cry should be, 'Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest is come.' But ere she could look in thorough hope for that time, another page of Honor's life must be turned, and an alloy, as yet unknown to herself, must be purged from her heart. The last gleam of her youthful sunshine had faded with Humfrey; but youth is but a fraction of human existence, and there were further phases to be gone through and lessons to be learnt; although she was feeling as if all were over with her in this world, and neither hope, love, nor protection were left her, nor any interest save cherishing Humfrey Charlecote's memory, as she sat designing the brass tablet which was to record his name and age in old English illuminated letters, surrounded by a border of ears of corn and grapes. CHAPTER IV The glittering grass, with dewstars bright, Is all astir with twinkling light; What pity that such fair array In one brief hour should melt away.--REV. T. WHYTEHEAD 'This is a stroke of good luck!' said Mr. Charteris. 'We must not, on any account, remove the Sandbrook children from Miss Charlecote; she has no relations, and will certainly make the boy her heir.' 'She will marry!' said his wife. 'Some fashionable preacher will swallow her red hair. She is just at the age for it!' 'Less likely when she has the children to occupy her.' 'Well, you'll have them thrown on your hands yet!' 'The chance is worth trying for, though! I would not interfere with her on any account.' 'Oh, no, nor I! but I pity the children.' * * * * * 'There, Master Owen, be a good boy, and don't worry. Don't you see, I'm putting up your things to go home.' 'Home!' the light glittered in Lucilla's eyes. 'Is it Wrapworth, nursey?' 'Dear me, miss, not Wrapworth. That's given away, you know; but it's to Hiltonbury you are going--such a grand place, which if Master Owen is only a dear good boy, will all belong to him one of these days.' 'Will there be a pony to ride on?' asked Owen. 'Oh, yes--if you'll only let those stockings alone--there'll be ponies, and carriages, and horses, and everything a gentleman can have, and all for my own dear little Master Owen!' 'I don't want to go to Hiltonbury,' said Lucilla; 'I want to go home to the river and the boat, and see Mr. Prendergast and the black cow.' 'I'll give you a black cow, Cilly,' said Owen, strutting about. 'Is Hiltonbury bigger than the castle?'