At this moment the girl was aware of some one coming behind her--a tall person, who could look over her shoulder--some one whose approach had not been noticed on the grass; and, turning quickly, she found herself face to face with--of all people in the world!--Miss West, who was carrying an immense bunch of freshly cut lilies. She gave a little exclamation of surprise as she put out her hand, saying-- “Miss West, I’m so charmed to see you. I heard you had been so ill. I hope you are better?” “Yes, I have been ill,” returned the other languidly, wishing most fervently that these gay Miss Dancers would go away and leave her alone with her dead. They were standing before the very grave she was in search of--a white, upright marble cross, on the foot of which was written in gilt letters-- HARRY WYNNE, DIED [here followed the date], AGED 2 YEARS AND 7 MONTHS. “Is it well with the child? It is well!” (2 Kings iv. 26). “We have just been admiring this pretty tombstone, Miss West--so uncommon and so appropriate. I have never seen that text before, have you?” Madeline turned away her eyes, and with wonderful self-command said, “No, she never had.” “I wonder what Wynnes he belonged to. It does not say. The head of the Wynnes is very poor. The old estate of Rivals Wynne has passed out of the family. I saw it last summer. It is a lovely old place--about two miles from Aunt Jessie’s--delightful for picnics. Such woods! But the house is almost a ruin. The old chapel and banqueting-hall and ladies’ gallery are roofless. It’s a pity when these old families go down, is it not, and die out?” “Yes, a pity,” she answered mechanically. There was, after this, a rather long silence. Miss West was not disposed to converse. Oh, why could they not go away? and her time was so precious! Perhaps they divined something of her thoughts; for the sisters looked at one another--a look that mutually expressed amazement at finding the gay Miss West among the tombs of a lonely rural churchyard; and one of them said-- “Is it not delightful to get into the country? I suppose you are staying in the neighbourhood for the yeomanry ball?” Madeline made no reply. Possibly her illness had affected her hearing. “This old church is considered quite the local sight. Our uncle is the rector. If you have come to look for any particular grave, we know the whole churchyard, and can help you to find it with pleasure.” This was one of the remarks that Miss Laura Dancer subsequently wished she had not made. Miss West murmured her thanks, and shook her head. And the girls, seeing that she evidently wished to be by herself--and, after begging her with one breath to “come and have tea at the rectory”--pranced down to the lych gate on their high-heeled shoes, followed more leisurely by the rector.