But there was one who seemed to have no companion there, or friend among the living or the dead. There was a young female in deep mourning, walking sorrowfully up and down the broad gravel-walk which led from the road to the church-door. She looked not at those that passed her, and she did not seem to regard the monumental inscriptions with any interest. Her form was graceful, but her figure was small. There was a paleness on her cheeks which looked like the paleness of sorrow and privation; but amidst that paleness might be discerned much beauty. There had been brightness in those eyes, and dimples on those cheeks, and wreathed smiles upon those lips; but these were now departed, and instead thereof was the “Leaden look that loves the ground.” She seemed to be heedless of all that was around her. The young beaux and coquettes of the village attracted not her attention, and all the change of look that was seen was an occasional and earnest direction of her eyes towards the door of the church when any footsteps were heard near it. There were no tears in the eyes, but there was an expression of countenance, which told that tears had been, and there was a stillness of sorrow which intimated that tears had done their utmost, and could no longer relieve. The young are ever prone to pity, and they most deeply and feelingly commiserate such as seem to be least importunate for sympathy; for despair is the sublimity of grief, and its very unobtrusiveness rivets the attention. An image of sorrow like this is not easily shaken from the mind. We may pass by it, and seem not to heed it; but it comes upon us again in our recollections; and our thoughts revert to it without effort, or even against effort. Thus did this vision fascinate and enchain the minds of those who in the indolence of their sabbath holiday were strolling about the churchyard. By degrees their idle talk was suspended or subdued. Their own little interests were forgotten, and they one and all wondered who it could be. And they were saying one to another, “How beautiful she looks!”--“How very pale she is!”--“She looks as if she were very ill.” Many such remarks were made, but they were uttered in a low tone, and with an endeavour not to appear to take particular notice of the melancholy stranger. At length the service in the church was over, and the multitude was pouring out. Then the beautiful mourner took her station at the porch, and watched with earnestness every face that passed by; and over her pale countenance there came a hectic flush, as the numbers increased and as the expected one seemed to be nearer. The numbers diminished and the paleness returned.