She moved from him as she said this, and went to a little mound that seemed not long since raised; there was a simple cross at the head and a narrow border of flowers round it. Lily knelt beside the flowers and pulled out a stray weed. Then she rose, and said to Kenelm, who had followed, and now stood beside her,-- “She was the little grandchild of poor old Mrs. Hales. I could not cure her, though I tried hard: she was so fond of me, and died in my arms. No, let me not say ‘died,’--surely there is no such thing as dying. ‘Tis but a change of life,-- ‘Less than the void between two waves of air, The space between existence and a soul.’” “Whose lines are those?” asked Kenelm. “I don’t know; I learnt them from Lion. Don’t you believe them to be true?” “Yes. But the truth does not render the thought of quitting this scene of life for another more pleasing to most of us. See how soft and gentle and bright is all that living summer land beyond; let us find subject for talk from that, not from the graveyard on which we stand.” “But is there not a summer land fairer than that we see now; and which we do see, as in a dream, best when we take subjects of talk from the graveyard?” Without waiting for a reply, Lily went on. “I planted these flowers: Mr. Emlyn was angry with me; he said it was ‘Popish.’ But he had not the heart to have them taken up; I come here very often to see to them. Do you think it wrong? Poor little Nell! she was so fond of flowers. And the Eleanor in the great tomb, she too perhaps knew some one who called her Nell; but there are no flowers round her tomb. Poor Eleanor!” She took the nosegay she wore on her bosom, and as she repassed the tomb laid it on the mouldering stone. CHAPTER XI. THEY quitted the burial-ground, taking their way to Grasmere. Kenelm walked by Lily’s side; not a word passed between them till they came in sight of the cottage. Then Lily stopped abruptly, and lifting towards him her charming face, said,-- “I told you I would think over what you said to me last night. I have done so, and feel I can thank you honestly. You were very kind: I never before thought that I had a bad temper; no one ever told me so. But I see now what you mean; sometimes I feel very quickly, and then I show it. But how did I show it to you, Mr. Chillingly?” “Did you not turn your back to me when I seated myself next you in Mrs. Braefield’s garden, vouchsafing me no reply when I asked if I had offended?” Lily’s face became bathed in blushes, and her voice faltered, as she answered,-- “I was not offended; I was not in a bad temper then: it was worse than that.” “Worse? what could it possibly be?” “I am afraid it was envy.” “Envy of what? of whom?”