He dropped the hand, and motioned to her father to load her to the carriage. Then winding his arm into Sidney's, he said,-- "Wait till they are gone: I have one word yet with you. Go on, gentlemen." The clergyman bowed, and walked through the churchyard. But Lilburne, pausing and surveying Philip Beaufort, said to him, whisperingly,-- "And so much for feeling--the folly! So much for generosity--the delusion! Happy man!" "I am thoroughly happy, Lord Lilburne." "Are you?--Then, it was neither feeling nor generosity; and we were taken in! Good day." With that he limped slowly to the gate. Philip answered not the sarcasm even by a look. For at that moment a loud shout was set up by the mob without--they had caught a glimpse of the bride. "Come, Sidney, this way." he said; "I must not detain you long." Arm in arm they passed out of the church, and turned to the spot hard by, where the flowers smiled up to them from the stone on their mother's grave. The old inscription had been effaced, and the name of CATHERINE BEAUFORT was placed upon the stone. "Brother," said Philip, "do not forget this grave: years hence, when children play around your own hearth. Observe, the name of Catherine Beaufort is fresher on the stone than the dates of birth and death--the name was only inscribed there to-day--your wedding- day. Brother, by this grave we are now indeed united." "Oh, Philip!" cried Sidney, in deep emotion, clasping the hand stretched out to him; "I feel, I feel how noble, how great you are--that you have sacrificed more than I dreamed of--" "Hush!" said Philip, with a smile. "No talk of this. I am happier than you deem me. Go back now--she waits you." "And you?--leave you!--alone!" "Not alone," said Philip, pointing to the grave. Scarce had he spoken when, from the gate, came the shrill, clear voice of Lord Lilburne,-- "We wait for Mr. Sidney Beaufort." Sidney passed his hand over his eyes, wrung the hand of his brother once more, and in a moment was by Camilla's side. Another shout--the whirl of the wheels--the trampling of feet--the distant hum and murmur--and all was still. The clerk returned to lock up the church--he did not observe where Philip stood in the shadow of the wall--and went home to talk of the gay wedding, and inquire at what hour the funeral of the young woman; his next-door neighbour, would take place the next day. It might be a quarter of an hour after Philip was thus left--nor had he moved from the spot--when he felt his sleeve pulled gently. He turned round and saw before him the wistful face of Fanny! "So you would not come to the wedding?" said he. "No. But I fancied you might be here alone--and sad." "And you will not even wear the dress I gave you?" "Another time. Tell me, are you unhappy?"