“Dear Elsie, it is the great strengthener and supporter of faith—the sufferings and premature death of the good. It makes immortality, heaven, certain, because necessary; and necessary, because just. Dear Elsie, what is the life and death of Christ intended to teach? What is the resurrection and ascension intended to insure?” “I know—oh, I know she is an angel in heaven; but heaven itself needs ‘familiarizing’ to our feelings, before it can console us for the lost—much.” At this moment the barkeeper came in, and said that the carryall was ready. Dr. Hardcastle re-arranged the cloak around his almost helpless companion, tied her hood, and leading her out, fixed her in the back of the carryall. Three o’clock came, and they had still fifteen miles to go. The mules went in a fast trot. Four o’clock came, and ten miles lay before them. Five o’clock came; it was nearly dark, and they were still several miles from town. At length, at a little before six, when it was quite dark and piercing cold, they entered Huttontown. Elsie had long in silence given up the hope of getting even to the church in time for the funeral service there; and now she whispered, in a low, solemn, sorrow-fraught tone: “Drive to the church—to the house of the sexton. We must see her again, if only in the vault.” “It will be too much for you, oh, my Elsie!” “No, no; I entreat, I implore you, take me to the vault.” CHAPTER XXVIII. THE VAULT. Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power as yet upon thy beauty; Thou art not conquered! Beauty’s ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there. _—Shakspere._ A silent drive of about half an hour’s length brought them to the deep and sheltered forest dell in which St. John’s Church stood. Surrounding the dell was the boundless forest, whose nearer trees stood up, stark and black, in strong contrast with the snow. Within the circle of these grim trees gleamed a single ray of red light, shooting in a line of crimson across the graveyard. This came from the window of the old sexton’s log house, that stood just within the shelter of the forest. Taking this ghostly light as their guide, and picking their way cautiously and reverently among the tombs, they approached the lone dwelling. As they drew near they saw the light flitting backward and forward in the house, and then perceived an old negro with a saddled mule at the gate.