The Death of Betty here occurred; as, sinking on the ground, and supporting herself against a tree “whence she could see, beyond some intervening trees and branches, the lighted windows,” her strength gave way— “‘I am safe here,’ was her last benumbed thought. ‘When I am found dead at the foot of the Cross, it will be by some of my own sort; some of the working people who work among the lights yonder. I cannot see the lighted windows now, but they are there. I am thankful for all!’” We have the satisfaction of reading that the poor woman’s hopes were realised, for _Lizzie Hexam_ returning from the mill, found her lying among the trees as described, and tended her at the last, with helpful and loving hands— “A look of thankfulness and triumph lights the worn old face. The eyes, which have been darkly fixed upon the sky, turn with meaning in them towards the compassionate face from which the tears are dropping, and a smile is on the aged lips as they ask, ‘What is your name, my dear?’ ‘My name is Lizzie Hexam.’ ‘I must be sore disfigured. Are you afraid to kiss me?’ The answer is, the ready pressure of her lips upon the cold but smiling mouth. ‘Bless ye! Now lift me, my love.’ Lizzie Hexam very softly raised the weather-stained grey head, and lifted her as high as Heaven.” The Burial, as detailed in the following chapter, must have taken place in the little churchyard of the contiguous village of SHIPLAKE (about three-quarters of a mile distant), the service being conducted by the Rev. Frank Milvey, and attended by the Secretary and poor _Sloppy_ as mourners. “A cry for help.” It may be interesting to indicate the local sequence of events on that memorable Saturday evening, when Bradley Headstone, impelled by wild resentment and furious jealousy, did his best to murder his more favoured rival, as described in chapter 6, book 4, under the above heading. It will be remembered that, on the evening in question, Eugene Wrayburn having forced an appointment with Lizzie Hexam, met her on the path by the river, when a very affecting farewell interview ensued. This interview occurring on the towpath—tolerably secluded at and after twilight—about halfway between Henley and Marsh (see _Marcus Stone’s_ Illustration, “The Parting by the River”), Eugene strolled slowly towards his inn, while Lizzie walked sorrowfully, as a matter of course, in the opposite direction. We read that, passing Bradley Headstone (disguised as a bargeman)—