And night fell, chilly, moonless and starless. The "homeless winds" sighed over the two graves new-made in the green churchyard, and the summer rain wept over them in the darkness, as though "The heart of Heaven were breaking In tears o'er the fallen earth." CHAPTER X. But, hark! who are those that disturb the peace that broods like the wing of an angel over the city of the dead? Under cover of the darkness and the rain, two dark, cloaked forms steal along the graveled walk and pause beside the spot where the dark, fresh-smelling earth is heaped in swelling mounds over the hapless father and daughter. The light of a bull's-eye lantern, flashing transiently over the form and face of one, shows a tall, straight form, and features as handsome as those of a Greek god. He speaks: "To your work, Perkins! They were so cursed long putting her into the ground that I feared my plot would fail! Hasten now. There is not a minute to lose. As it is, we may be too late!" The man called Perkins produced a spade from under his cloak, and set to work, cautiously but rapidly throwing the earth off of one of the new graves. "Are you sure you are right now, Perkins? I believe I should kill you if you made a mistake!" said the handsome man with the lantern, grinding a terrible oath between his white teeth. "You'll not have the chance to wreak your dev'lish temper on me," said Perkins, in a familiar tone, as if addressing one with whom he was thoroughly acquainted. "I'm sure of what I'm doing. I saw them put her into this very hole this evening." "Hurry up, then. What do you stop to talk for? Make your strokes as light as possible. You might be heard!" said the lantern-bearer, irascibly. Perkins redoubled his exertions, but it seemed an age to his impatient employer before the dull, horrible thud of the spade announced that the coffin was reached. "You'll have to help me git the coffin out," said Perkins. "It will be no easy job in this darkness and the pouring rain." It was no easy job, as he had said, but their united efforts, with the usual appliances for such work, at length enabled them to raise it out of the grave and set it on the ground beside them. Even as they did so, a dreadful sound mingled with the sob of the wind and the putter of the rain. It was a low and smothered moan from within the coffin! "Great God, Perkins, wrench the lid off!" exclaimed the other, excitedly. "She revives!" Again and again the low moan echoed within the coffin, having a horrible sound from within that prison-house of death, and fevering the blood of the waiting man who swore audibly at Perkins, whose swiftest efforts seemed like the progress of a snail to his impatient mood. "Now, sir," said Perkins, at last, as panting, and perspiring, he threw off the lid of the elegant casket, "now, sir, there's your game!"