“A knack, a knack, a knack,
Well cut, well bound,
Well shocked, well saved from the ground,
Whoop! whoop! whoop!”

After which the harvest doll displaced her last year’s predecessor over the hearth, where she was to hang till next year.

All this Aurelia described, comparing the customs with those of her own county, her heart beating all the time under the doubt how to venture on describing the fulfilment of her commission.  At last Mr. Belamour said,

“In such a scene of gaiety, no doubt the recollection of sorrow had no place.”

“O sir, you could not think I should forget.”

“I thought I might have asked more than was possible to you.”

“It was the only part of the day that I enjoyed.  I took little Fay with me, for no one seemed to care for her, while Amy was queening it with all the Wheatfields, and Letty was equally happy with her foster mother.  I could see the church spire, so I needed not to ask the way, and we crossed the stubble fields, while the sun sent a beautiful slanting light through the tall elm trees that closed in the churchyard, but let one window glitter between them like a great diamond.  It looked so peaceful after all the noise we left behind, even little Fay felt it, and said she loved the quiet walk along the green baulks [An unplowed strip of land—­D.L.].  The churchyard has a wooden rail with steps to cross it on either side, and close under the church wall is a tomb, a great square simple block, surmounted by an urn.”

“Yes, let me hear,” said the voice, eager, though stifled.

“I thought it might be what you wished me to see and went up to read the names.”

“Do not spare.  Never fear.  Let me hear the very words.”

“On one face of the block there was a name—­

’WILLIAM SEDHURST,
AGED 27,
DIED MAY 13, 1729.’

On the other side was this inscription:—­

’MARY,
ONLY DAUGHTER OF GEORGE SEDHURST, ESQUIRE,
AGED 19,
DIED AUGUST 1st, 1729.

Love is strong as Death. 
Sorrow not as others that have no Hope.’

In smaller letters down below, ’This epitaph is at her own special request.’

“Sir,” continued Aurelia, “it was very curious.  I should not have observed those words if it had not been that a large beautiful butterfly, with rainbow eyes on its wings, sat sunning itself on the white marble, and Fay called me to look at it.”

“Her message!  May I ask you to repeat it again?”

“The texts?  ’Love is strong as death.  Sorrow not as others that have no hope.’”

“Did you call them Scripture texts?”

“Yes, sir; I know the last is in one of the Epistles, and I will look for the other.”

“It matters not.  She intended them for a message to me who lay in utter darkness and imbecility well befitting her destroyer.”

“Nay, they have come to you at last,” said Aurelia gently.  “You really never knew of them before?”