"I ought to have come before," he said. "How old and calm everything seems! What a place for a man to be buried in, when the lifework's done!" "And the fight, and strife, and turmoil at an end," said Aunt Sophia, in a low sweet voice, that made the doctor start, for it did not seem like hers. Aunt Sophia went on along the little aisle with its few old pews on either side, and past the worm-eaten altar screen, beyond which were some venerable stalls, in one of which she sat down, motioning her companion to another at her side. He took the seat, and the strangely solemn calm of the place impressed him as he noted the well-worn pavement, composed of the memorial stones of the passed away, dyed in many hues by the sunlight that streamed through the old east window. Before him were the remains of a brass relating to the founder of the church; beyond that were more of the old worm-eaten stalls, in which, in bygone days, the monks of the neighbouring priory must have sat, long enough before the huge linden that had grown to maturity, and now dappled the sunbeams that fell upon the floor, had been planted where it stood, at the chancel end. As the doctor looked along the aisle with its soft dim light, the sunshine that streamed in through the southern windows and the light that came from the open door seemed to cut into the faint gloom, and mark out for themselves a place; while clearly heard from without came the twittering of swallows that circled about the little low tower, the chirping of sparrows in the ivy, and the clear trill of a lark somewhere poised in air hard by. "I shall end by being a lover of the country, and coming here to live, Miss Raleigh," said Scales at last, breaking the solemn silence, for his companion had not spoken since she took her place within the chancel. "Not to fire from trouble?" she said with a smile. "No," he replied; "not to flee from trouble. But there is such a sweet sense of tranquillity here, that one seems to feel at rest, and the ordinary cares of life are forgotten.--Hark!" he said, as the note of the lark grew louder and clearer in the ringing arch of heaven. And then he sat back, listening for a time, wondering at last why his companion had brought him there. Then he fell to glancing casually at the two or three tablets on the wall. One was to the memory of a former vicar; another told of the virtues of the Squire of a neighbouring Hall, who had gone to his account followed by the prayers and blessings of the whole district--so the tablet seemed to say. Lastly, his eyes lighted upon a simple square marble tablet, raised upon another of black, and read the inscription: "To the Memory of Charles Hartly, Lieutenant of Her Majesty's --th Regiment of Foot, who fell at Delhi, when bringing in a wounded comrade lying in front of the enemy's lines." "Forty years ago," said the doctor thoughtfully. "Poor fellow! he died a hero's death."