The choir sang sweet music and the white-robed priest said more solemn words that were like spoken music; then the procession moved slowly down the aisle again and out of the door.  The bell in the steeple was silent now, and the organ was silent.  Silently the procession moved—­silently the snow came down.  Silently and softly, like white flowers.  The green graves were white with it now, like the flowers on the coffin lid; but the open grave in the churchyard corner, near the wall—­it was dark, and deep and terrible!  The boy’s heart almost stood still as, clinging to Nurse Betty’s hand, he stared into its yawning mouth.  He felt that he would choke—­would suffocate.  They were lowering the box into that deep, dark pit!  What if the sleeping figure should awake, after all—­awake to the darkness and narrowness of that narrow bed!

With a piercing shriek the child broke from his nurse’s hand and thrust himself upon the arm of one of the black figures who held the ropes, in a wild effort to stay him; then, still shrieking, was borne from the spot.

CHAPTER II.

“Since it seems you have set your heart upon this thing, I do not forbid it; but remember, you are acting in direct opposition to my judgment and advice, and if you ever live to regret it (as I believe you shall) you will have no one but yourself to blame.”

John Allan’s voice was harsher, more positive, than usual; his shoulders seemed to square themselves and a frowning brow hardened an always austere face.  His whole manner was that of a man consenting against his will.  His young wife hung over his chair vainly endeavoring to smooth, with little pats of her fair hands, the stubborn locks that would stand on end, like the bristles of a brush, whatever she did.  Her soft and vivacious beauty was in striking contrast to the strength and severity of his rugged and at the same time distinguished countenance.  His narrow, steel-blue eyes, deep sunk under bushy brows and a high, but narrow, forehead, were shrewd and piercing; his nose was large and like a hawk’s beak.  His face too, was narrow, with cheek-bones high as an Indian’s.  His mouth was large, but firmly closed, and the chin below it was long and prominent and was carried stiffly above the high stock and immaculate, starched shirt-ruffles.  Her figure, as she leaned against the chair’s high back, was slender and girlish,—­childish, almost, in its low-necked, short-waisted, slim-skirted, “Empire” dress, of some filmy stuff, the pale yellow of a Marshal Niel rose.  Her face was a pure oval with delicate, regular features.  Her reddish-brown hair, parted in the middle, was piled on top of her small head, and airy little curls hung down on her brow on either side of the part.  Her eyes—­the color of her hair—­were gentle and sweet and her mouth was tenderly curved and rosy.  With her imploring attitude, the sweetness of her eyes and mouth and the warmth of her plea, her fresh beauty glowed like a flower, newly opened.  All unmoved, John Allan repeated,