The carriage turned a sudden bend in the road, and Elinor, leaning idly forward to note the old, familiar landmarks, gazed intently one moment, then uttered a stifled cry of terror. Bertram Chesleigh started, like one awaking from a dream. "What is it? Has anything alarmed you, Miss Glenalvan?" he inquired, courteously. "Look there," she cried, fearfully, pointing her hand through the window. He followed the direction of her finger and saw--oh horror, that they were passing the burial-ground of the Glenalvans. He saw a little band of black-robed mourners grouped around a narrow mound of freshly-thrown-up earth. He saw the minister standing at the head of the grave with his open book, and fancied he could hear him repeating the solemn, beautiful words with which we consign "ashes to ashes, and dust to dust." "Pray tell the driver to stop," Elinor cried out, excitedly, "I must get out. Someone of my own family must be dead." He made no answer. He was handing her out with hands that trembled as nervously as her own. One terrible, blasting thought was in his mind. "It is Golden, my wronged, little wife, and my babe that I never saw, whom they are hiding beneath that little mound," he said to himself, in agony. "Oh, God! that I should have come only in time for this!" He opened the little, white gate that led into the green burial-place, with its glimmering, white stones, and Elinor silently followed him. The little group about the grave fell back as they approached, and they saw the men throwing up the earth upon the new-made grave. Its dull, awful thud fell like the crash of a great despair upon his heart. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," murmured the minister's solemn voice, and the conscience-stricken man fell on his knees and hid his face in his hand, afraid and ashamed, for that deep voice seemed to condemn him for the evil he had wrought. A weak and trembling hand fluttered down on his shoulder, and a thin, quavering voice sounded reproachfully in his ear: "So you have come to exhult over your wicked work, Bertram Chesleigh." The wretched man looked up into the streaming eyes of old Hugh Glenalvan. At a little distance he saw old black Dinah regarding him with looks of horror and loathing. A beautiful, golden-haired woman stood apart, weeping silently, and Elinor Glenalvan had gone to the minister and was speaking to him agitatedly. Bertram sprang up desperately. "Oh, sir, for God's sake," he cried to the dejected old man, "tell me whom they have buried here!" And the answer came in broken tones: "Golden Glenalvan and her babe." Bertram Chesleigh, kneeling in the dust that was heaped above the dead heart that had loved him so devotedly, lifted his hands and eyes to Heaven, and cried out, in a broken, contrite voice: