It is to be feared that John thought more of her than of _them_. He gave them a momentary thought in their stillness and calmness, so long ago delivered out of all commotion and trouble, and then his mind fled to matters more urgent, to the young creature bending over them, who was so familiar yet so unfamiliar, who woke so many bewildering, new sensations in his heart. John felt that it was intended to take Elly from him, and did not know how to oppose this, yet was determined to oppose it. It would not be Elly’s fault if she was separated from him. What was he to do to keep hold of her, to prevent the severance? He was grieved at himself that this was the foremost subject in his mind at his grandparents’ grave. But how could he help it? and they, if they were permitted to see, if they knew anything about it, they would understand; John felt that if they perceived him standing thus over their last resting-place, as we instinctively feel that those whom we have lost must do, that they would not resent the perturbation of his mind or think that it meant neglect or forgetfulness, but would understand entirely and without mistake; for have they not ‘larger, other eyes than ours?’ After a while, he went away and took a little turn among the graves by himself, Elly all this time stooping over the spot, and picking off every leaf that marred the perfection of the flowers. When he returned he put his hand softly upon her arm, and called her to come away. ‘Elly,’ he said, ‘I have something more on my mind than these graves. They are not there. They would not like me to give myself up to it as if they were there.’ ‘No, Jack,’ she said. ‘Therefore they would not blame me, and you shouldn’t, for what I am going to say. It was you I was thinking of, Elly. It is you that mean home to me, it appears, and all that I care for. Elly, there are other ways of thinking at the rectory: they will not let it be if they can help it.’ She trembled a little, and asked, softly, ‘What will they not let be, Jack?’ ‘Oh, Elly, that I should look to you so for sympathy; that you should be my dear friend; that you should be Elly to me. You allow me to say it, but they wouldn’t. And what am I to do without you?’ he said, in full sincerity and alarm. He did not at all think of her in the matter, which perhaps was natural enough. ‘Don’t think of that, Jack. Call me what you have always called me, and think of me as you have always thought. If you give it up as if you were frightened, that may put what you say into their heads.’ ‘But I see the justice of it,’ said John. ‘You are not a little girl, but a beautiful young lady. What right has a fellow like me, without any recommendations, with nothing in his favour except being very fond of you, what right have I to call you Elly? My judgment agrees with theirs, though I think it will break my heart.’