“I thought I might have asked more than was possible to you.” “It was the only part of the day that I enjoyed. I took little Fay with me, for no one seemed to care for her, while Amy was queening it with all the Wheatfields, and Letty was equally happy with her foster mother. I could see the church spire, so I needed not to ask the way, and we crossed the stubble fields, while the sun sent a beautiful slanting light through the tall elm trees that closed in the churchyard, but let one window glitter between them like a great diamond. It looked so peaceful after all the noise we left behind, even little Fay felt it, and said she loved the quiet walk along the green baulks [An unplowed strip of land--D.L.]. The churchyard has a wooden rail with steps to cross it on either side, and close under the church wall is a tomb, a great square simple block, surmounted by an urn.” “Yes, let me hear,” said the voice, eager, though stifled. “I thought it might be what you wished me to see and went up to read the names.” “Do not spare. Never fear. Let me hear the very words.” “On one face of the block there was a name-- ‘WILLIAM SEDHURST, _AGED_ 27, DIED MAY 13, 1729.’ On the other side was this inscription:-- ‘MARY, ONLY DAUGHTER OF GEORGE SEDHURST, ESQUIRE, _AGED_ 19, DIED AUGUST 1st, 1729. _Love is strong as Death. Sorrow not as others that have no Hope_.’ In smaller letters down below, ‘This epitaph is at her own special request.’ “Sir,” continued Aurelia, “it was very curious. I should not have observed those words if it had not been that a large beautiful butterfly, with rainbow eyes on its wings, sat sunning itself on the white marble, and Fay called me to look at it.” “Her message! May I ask you to repeat it again?” “The texts? ‘Love is strong as death. Sorrow not as others that have no hope.’” “Did you call them Scripture texts?” “Yes, sir; I know the last is in one of the Epistles, and I will look for the other.” “It matters not. She intended them for a message to me who lay in utter darkness and imbecility well befitting her destroyer.” “Nay, they have come to you at last,” said Aurelia gently. “You really never knew of them before?” “No, I durst not ask, nor did any one dare to speak to me. My brother, who alone would have done so, died, I scarcely know when; but ere the very consciousness of my own wretched existence had come back to me. Once again repeat the words, gentle messenger of mercy.” She obeyed, but this time he mournfully murmured, “Hope! What hope for their destroyer?” “They are God’s words, as well as hers,” the girl answered, with diffident earnestness, but in reply she only heard tightened breaths, which made her say, “You cannot bear more, sir. Let me call Jumbo, and bid you good night.”