"I cannot think so," said Mr. Haveloc. "I cannot believe that any of the natural feelings which we cherish for the remains of those who are dear to us, serve to be classed as weaknesses to be derided or overcome. I detest the philosophy which can analyse and reject the most sacred of our affections--that can strip death of the awe and the mystery which should protect and surround the breathless effigy destined to be immortal. A philosophy so blind that it sees but a heap of clay in the ashes that wait for the breath of God to summon them to Heaven!" "You always feel strongly, you know," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick with a faint smile. They had crossed the church-yard by this time, and stopped before a recent grave. It was covered with white stone, and a cross of the same material carved in the early English fashion, bore the simple inscription of her name and age. "Already!" said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "I am surprised. I had no idea that it could have been done so soon." "It was placed here two days after the funeral," said Mr. Haveloc. "I did not choose that the spot should remain unmarked." At another time, Mrs. Fitzpatrick would have smiled at the self-will which her companion was apt to display even in trifles; and have wondered how much it would avail him in the serious business of life. But now she leaned upon the cross absorbed in her own painful thoughts; her mind wandered involuntarily from scene to scene of her daughter's illness and death. Every tone, every change of countenance presented itself in turn to her memory. All was perfectly still. It was very rare for a footstep, except on Sundays, to cross that lovely spot. One benefit arising from a thinly scattered population, is the decent repose afforded to the dead. Here, the graves were not crowded, and there was no need to disturb them for the new inmates. The old mounds sank level with the soil, and the grey crumbling stones fell in every variety of position over the ground. The old unclipped yew trees, feathered down to the earth, and sheltered the north side of the ground from the cold winds. It was not infested, as in populous places, with the rude children of the lower classes, filling the place with discordant sounds and hideous gestures, and spurning with their coarse feet the earth that had been consecrated to so solemn a purpose. At last, Mr. Haveloc interrupted the reverie of his companion. "It is late," he said, "and you are quite wet, I fear. Let me advise you to return home." "Home!" said Mrs. Fitzpatrick mournfully. "To what do I return? I am less solitary here, than I am in my own house." "You must be persuaded," said he, leading her from the tomb. "Mrs. Grant will, I am sure, be wretched until she sees you again." "It is true," said she, "I ought not to indulge in such feelings. How silent! How ineffably still! I feel so deeply the fitness and the luxury of this calm that surrounds the dead, now that I also have a treasure buried here."