ready made from the skies, and had no business | proud, and passionate, he had a warm heart and a there. I suppose at the end of two more lives as ready hand, and, above all, a way with him that long as mine, if it holds out, they'll say it's won strangely upon the women. He ought never haunted, and it's sure that many a one has been so for less." "But was there no lawful heir," I inquired, "to save so fine a property as you describe from such a fate?" "There were two of them, sir-there were two of them, and that they say was the evil. When the squire yonder," and he jerked his head in the direction of the vault of the Darcourts, "went mad and died, his sister was left, and she had married some great lord from foreign parts who took her away to where he came from; I don't rightly remember now where it was, to France, or to the Ameriky's, or somewhere about there, and as she was n't here to take care of herself, up starts a cousin that she had never seen or heard of, from t' other side of England, a long way off, and says as he is heir-at-law; so poor Miss Emily is advised to throw it into Chancery,' I think they call it, which means that nobody is to have it, for the good of them both, and there it is." · "It was a melancholy death for the last of an old family to die," I observed. to have come to such a place as this: he was too clever for us, sir, in all the London ways. But all was joy up at the hall. Master Richard was so handsome, and the friends that he brought down with him to fish and shoot were so fashionable and elegant, that poor Miss Emily was delighted; and that's the way that she came to marry her outlandish husband, poor dear young lady! Do you know, sir, I've often wondered," pursued the sexton, leaning his chin upon the clasped hands that rested on the handle of his spade, "I've very often wondered if that was n't a sin that marrying of foreigners; for as they are all the natural-born enemies of old England, it seems to me that it never could be intended that they should come together with husbands from beyond seas." "Why, you forget, my good friend, that our fair and gracious sovereign gave her royal hand to a German prince." "That's the very thing that makes me doubt, sir, for I felt quite sure of it before, but when I heard of that I was staggered; and now I'm glad to know that I was wrong, for I loved Miss Emily like a child of my own. Though still I shall think, as long as I live, that our young ladies could find better, and fonder, and handsomer husbands at home than ever they'll do across the water." "You would have said so, sir, if you had seen and heard it as I did. I did n't envy him his down bed, and his satin curtains that night, for I had seen my father and mother die in our little cottage, in a room with a brick floor and whitewashed walls, the same room that I and she were born in, and where I hope to die myself; there were tears and sighs there, sir, I own, and many of them, but neither howls, nor screams, nor terror. I never" knew before how little money or luxury could help at such a time, but I learnt it then." "Was there insanity in the family?" "No, sir, never before. The old squire and madam lived to a good old age in peace and charity with all men, and for the last ten years they never stirred from the hall, which folks said was all the worse for their son, for London seems to be but a queer place for young men, when they 've no one to look after 'em. They thought he spent a mint o' money-they owned that; but when he paid some thousands of pounds to get to be a parliament man, that seemed to set all right at the hall; and madam used to look so very eager-like at the parson on a Sunday when he prayed for the 'high court,' a-thinking, as she was, of the young squire; and all the village was so glad to do her pleasure, that the 'amen' to that prayer was always the loudest; but it would n't all do, for it was n't likely that a gay young blade that couldn't rule himself could be a better hand at ruling the nation." "Did he succeed in making any figure?" I asked, with a smile. "I should think he did, sir," replied the sexton, with all the gravity of a profound conviction, which he was too modest to put into words, "for before long he got turned adrift again, and he never could get in after that. He said when he came down home that they was all alike, for that there was a 'dissolution; but you know, sir, ignorant as we are about here, we could n't quite believe that; for it was n't likely or natural that they should all die off at once, so we just took it for what it was good for, and saw clear enough that the king and the parliament had had enough of him." "You and I, at least, are bound to believe so, Master Saunders." "You are, sir-you are," retorted the old man; as for me, I never thought of a wife but once, and I felt it my duty not to marry her; I had another duty to perform, sir, that I could n't ask her to share, though she'd have done it, as I well know, for my sake; and so from that time I made up my mind to stay as I was, and to live and die alone." "You were, then, an orphan?" "There were two of us, sir. My father went first, when he was still a fine hale man of fifty, from a fall he had; and my mother broke her heart six months afterwards, when Amy was only two years old. I dug both their graves with my own hands, and there they lie, side by side as they lived. No, not that way, sir," he continued, following the direction of my glance, "but out awayyonder. I put her as far from 'em as I could, for I thought she was n't worthy to be near 'em; and so, from my own wicked pride, I've brought the same misfortune on myself, for I shall lie by her, and she won't be alone much longer, that's one comfort." "I understand her melancholy story," I said, with all the pity that 1 felt; " your poor young sister was tempted, and she fell." The old man nodded his head, and wiped his hand across his eyes. "And yet I ought n't quite to say so," he pursued, after a pause; "for you see, sir, here's the whole truth. Amy was not only the prettiest girl in the hamlet, but she was the best. On her death-bed my mother put her into my arms, and bade me remember that she would soon have no one to take care of her and watch over her but me, and as I was almost old enough then to be her father, she told me that I must act as such, and keep her from all evil ways, and make her happy; and I promised it all on my knees. And while she was "Not a bit, sir; for though he was wild, and a child she was seldom out of my sight, but played "And was he unpopular at that time?" "I thought, sir, that the floor was sliding away from under my feet; and before I could get my voice again, up sprang Amy, threw off Miss Einily's arm, let the beautiful book fall upon the floor, and, without even waiting to pick it up, rushed to my neck and began to cry bitterly, saying that she could n't and would n't leave me forever. "Ah, sir! why did n't I listen to that voice of nature that rung a warning in my ears? But I was young and hopeful then, and was full of wild and ambitious dreams for the baby-sister that I had reared. At least, I never thought of myself; I could n't afford to do that. The solitary cottage frightened me, and the long, long days and nights that I must pass without seeing Amy, or feeling her kisses on my lips, or hearing her clear voice carolling through the narrow rooms. And so it was me that persuaded her, and soothed her, and bid her go and kiss madam's hand, and thank her for all her kindness. And she obeyed me," pursued the poor old man, dashing away the tears which were now pouring down his furrowed cheeks that day had any will but mine, and she could n't hold out long against it. And madam, who had kindly shed a tear herself, told me to take my little sister home, and to bring her back on the morrow: but I could n't venture that, and so I made bold to tell her. Amy was at the hall now; and, thankful as I was for all her goodness, I might n't, belike, have courage to take her back if once I had her at the cottage again. Miss Emily, too, was crying and clinging to her new friend; and the squire looked up from his paper and said that I was quite right, and that, as the worst was now over, it had better not be begun again; so the lady agreed with him, telling me that I need n't trouble about Amy's things, for that they would give her all she wanted at the hall, and that I might come and see her the next Sunday, and have my dinner there. I got away at last I hardly know how, and found myself in the great avenue. in the fields while I was at work, with the hedgeflowers and the butterflies, searching for blackberries and wild roses, and making my heart glad and my arm strong. And when I was called here to dig a grave, she sat beside me on the grass, making necklaces of the daisies, and reminding me of the dutics that were before me, and making me feel less lonely when I happened to look towards the place where I had laid our parents. But she could n't always be a child, and so she grew up to be a tall girl, wanting more learning than I could give her; and though the cottage was lonely enough when she was out of it, I sent her to the village school till she had learned all they could teach her; and I thought that was enough for one of her station, and was happy again to have her with me, singing about the house, and doing all that her poor mother had done before her, and, as I'fancied, doing it even better. This was n't to last, however; for she was so pretty and so modest that Madam Darcourt noticed her for a time at church, and spoke to the parson about her, and then had her up to the hall and talked to her. I" she obeyed me, sir; for Amy had never till can't tell you how proud I was, sir, for I knew that she deserved it all; and I began to hope that belike they would do something more for her than I could. And so they did, sir--and so they did; and it was all well meant and kindly, though they had better left her in the old cottage to live with her brother and to work at her wheel. When Miss Emily saw her she took a great fancy to her, for they were nearly of an age; and so it was settled that I should be sent for, and my heart was in my mouth while I was putting on my Sunday suit to go up in my turn; and when I got there what should I see in the grand old oak room but Madam Darcourt, sitting in her big crimson chair by the fireside, watching the two girls, who were on their knees before a sofa, turning over a book of pictures, and the squire on the window-seat reading one of the London papers. I guessed how it would be directly, for Amy had taken off her bonnet and shawl, and Miss Emily's arm was round her neck, that was as red as a peony; and while Amy's eyes were cast down upon the pictures, Miss Emily was whispering in her ear and almost laughing in her joy. Well, sir, when I took my hat off at the door, the squire nodded his head, and madam smiled and told me to come in; but I knew myself better, and stood fast. It was just as I thought. First I was asked what relations I had about the place, and I said none at all but Amy; for my father came from a far shire when he was a boy to seek for work; and poor people, when they're once parted from their uncles and cousins, don't know much about 'em a few years after; and my mother was an orphan brought up by her grandmother, who died many years before of grief that her only son had been lost at sea: so that we were all alone. The lady said that she was glad of it, and then inquired what friends Amy had made in the village. I told her what was the truth, that every soul in the village was her friend, from the parson downwards, but that she had no playfellow but me, and had never asked for one. Madam looked more pleased than ever; and saying that she knew she could trust to my word, she began to tell me that Miss Emily was in want of a companion, both in her play and her learning, and that if I would consent to part with Amy, she should live at the hall so long as she continued to be a good girl, and learn of Miss Emily's governess and be treated like one of the family. "It was a Monday, sir-a Monday, in the afternoon-and I wasn't to see Amy till the next Sunday. When I remembered that, I felt as if some one had clutched me by the throat-I could n't breathe; and if I had been a boy instead of a man I should have thought that I was sobbing. So I sat down under one of the trees and took off my hat, that the wind might blow in my face, and that did me good; and, after a time, I began to think, and, somehow, from one thing to another, I got on till I verily believed that I had made a fortune for Amy. I saw her riding in her own coach; and then I felt so merry that I tried to sing, but I could n't do that-I might as well have tried to pull up one of the old beeches by the roots. So, when I found it would n't do, I jumped up again and walked on to the village. 66 I passed the wicket of my little garden, lifted the door-latch, and went into the cottage. I kept telling myself that I ought to be very glad; but somehow, when I found myself there alone, I felt just as I did the day that I came from my mother's funeral. I had ate nothing since breakfast, for Amy had been sent for just as she put our bit of bacon in the pot; and when I went I was in too great a hurry to follow her to think about my meal. When I got home the fire had gone out under the saucepan, and there was no cloth laid, though it was nearly supper time; but I did n't heed these things then, I only remembered them afterwards. I threw myself into an old high-backed wooden 66 chair, that had been my father's, and sat there, | there at least; and now I saw that I should be thinking of nothing, but quite lost, until the morn- obliged to sit alone, and only see her a long way ing. off, when I caught a sight of her bright young face between the crimson curtains of the pew. But there was no help for it, and so I promised Madam Darcourt that I would forbid her to come to me. And I did it-I did it, sir; but I don't know how I had the heart, for I began to see that they wanted to shake me off, and that it was only Amy's innocent love that prevented it. However, I never saw that Sunday-school bonnet again, and we never more sat side by side upon that narrow bench. The fresh air did me good when I went to my work, and I began to be angry at my own folly. It was hard enough, to be sure, to be parted from Amy, and to be left alone for the first time; but then it was for Amy's good, and I had promised to be a father to her; and all the while that pride was swelling at my heart, I kept telling myself that I had only done my duty, and that I must n't be thinking of my own pleasure and convenience. I never shed a tear, sir, through it all; perhaps I should have got over it better if I had, for the women seem to get rid of a deal of grief through their eyes! But I hoarded up all my sorrow, and even hid it from my neighbors when they inquired into the truth, and told me that Amy's fortune was made and that she would be a lady. And so Sunday came at last, and it rained hard and the family didn't come to church; but the rain was nothing to me, and, when the parson had gone home, I started for the hall. 66 Well, sir, they grew up, those two beautiful young girls; but Amy was the handsomest of the two and the cleverest, for Miss Emily was n't fond of learning and was a spoiled child, while the poor cottager's daughter gave all her mind to her books, and, not content with learning what they bid her, learned a power of other things that they never meant her to know. And she had such an air, sir! Many times I've put my hand to my hat to pull it off when she spoke to me, if she had n't hindered it with a smile and a kiss. And so as I found she was getting beyond me, and would never be fit for the cottage again, I began to think that I got on badly enough with the old woman that looked after me, and that I'd better search about for a wife. There were plenty of girls in the village, and good girls too; but Amy had spoiled me, so I was in no hurry to make up my mind, for I would n't give her a sister that she might be ashamed of, and I was too poor to look for anything grand. However, I kept my eyes about me; and just then the young squire came home, after what he called the dissolution. I shall never forget him at church the next Sunday; how polite he was, looking out the places in her prayer-book, and putting on her shawl when they were going home. All the village was up in arms; but I did n't like it-it did n't seem to me to be natural. And when Amy wished me goodIby at the porch, and got into the coach with madam, and Miss Emily, and the governess, to go home, altogether it did n't seem to me to be right, and I began to be uneasy about her. But Master Richard was soon off again, and I forgot all about it, till the old squire was taken ill and had two physicians from the county town. But all would n't do, and at the end of four months he died. "I thought Amy would have ate me up; but that hardly satisfied me. I should n't have known her again, for she had got lace on her frock, and a sash like Miss Emily's; and although I was proud to see her so fine, yet somehow she did n't seem to belong to me as she used to do. And I wasn't a minute alone with her. I was asked into the schoolroom, where the governess never left us, and called me Mister Saunders, and told me that I ought to pray for madam every night of my life, and suchlike, as if she could feel what I did. And Amy smiled and cried at the same time, and inquired after her poultry and the donkey that she used to gallop over the hills upon, till she was reminded that she must leave off thinking of such things, and think of her learning; and then she hung her head and kissed me over and over again, but asked no more questions. This was bad enough, but when dinner came it was worse. had n't had time yet to forget that Amy was my sister; but she dined in the parlor with the squire and madam, and Miss Emily and the governess, as the rule was every Sunday, and I in the servants' hall. It wasn't for pride that I minded it, for the servants there were all ladies and gentlemen, and thought themselves very obliging to accept of my company; but I couldn't bear to be parted from Amy, nor to have her taught to look down upon me; and I really believe that I should have carried her back again that night to the cottage if she had n't had on a parcel of fine clothes that did n't belong to her. "That was the first time the vault had been opened since I took up my father's trade, and 1 need n't tell you, sir, how heavy my heart was when I set about it. It seemed to me to be only the beginning of evil, and so it was; for madam began to pine when he was gone, and the young squire, who had come down for the funeral with the lawyers and such like, would n't leave her, but stayed on for a whole year at the hall; and at the end of it he buried her. Then Miss Emily refused to leave the place; and so he came and went between London and the hall, that was now his own, and a few months afterwards the house was full. The governess stayed on as housekeeper, and Miss Emily and Amy loved one another more than ever. "Next thing, sir, I was asked up once a fortnight, and then once a month; but, for a time, Amy persisted in sitting by me at church on a Sunday, and reading out of the same book, and she used to wear her old bonnet and shawl that she had on when she left home, though I sobn saw myself that they did n't look rational over muslin and silk frocks, for she had soon outgrown her own. At last, one Sunday, when I was dining at the hall, madam sent for me to the big room, and told me that she was quite satisfied with my behavior, and was sorry to say anything that might "Before very long news came to the village hurt me, but that if Amy was to be Miss Emily's that Miss Emily was about to be married; and friend, it wasn't becoming that she should leave then my heart was full, for I did n't know what the squire's pew, or wear the Sunday-school dress would become of my sister. Madam had left her that likened her to the rest of the village girls. I five hundred pounds in her will, and she was a think I felt that saying more than all the rest, sir, match for the best farmer in the country. But I for I had been glad to believe that we were equal | began to be afraid that she'd never settle to work THE TWO GRAVES. 291 after the life she 'd led and the learning she 'd got; | whitewashed cottage came back upon me as if and so I took upon myself one day when, for a they mocked my folly. And as she still knelt wonder, we were left alone, to talk to her about there-for I had n't stretched out a finger to lift these matters. I could make nothing of it, how- her up, though she seemed to be sinking into the ever; she only blushed and smiled, and told me to dust-as she knelt there, I thought of the young keep myself easy, for she 'd been luckier than she wife who was to come to my home as soon as I deserved, and she 'd tell me all, only that she knew that she was happy and settled, as she had must n't until after Miss Emily's marriage. I told me she should soon be: the virtuous girl that thought this hard; I felt as though she ought n't had heard me boast so often of my sister Amy that to have a secret from her only brother, and one she almost trembled when she thought of seeing who had brought her up from a baby. But she her. And when I remembered that I should n't had a way with her that always upset me; and so dare to look her in the face again, with such a I kissed her and told her that she knew best, as, shame as this come upon me, as she knelt there, of course, she must, and tried to think that all sir, I could have driven her from me with a blow. would come right in time. thinking of little else but her! I only waited till She had thought so little of me, when I had been I had got my legs again, and that I knew I should n't stagger and fall before I got clear of that accursed roof; and then giving her one long look that reproached her more than all I could have said, I wrenched my knees from her grasp and turned to leave her. "I shall never forget Miss Emily's marriage, sir. The squire was like one beside himself. Gold flew about on all sides, as had never been seen before in Thornhollow; and we were all glad of it for the parson's sake, for he wanted it bad enough. There was a fair on the common, and a dinner for all the village in the park. But the grandest sight was the wedding. bridegroom's sisters had come over, and there Two of the were they and Amy all dressed alike, like princesses, and Miss Emily, like a queen as she was, and a great lady as she was going to be. But I thought that Amy looked very pale, and sad, and ill; and once or twice I caught her eye turned upon me, as if to see whether I was watching her; and when our eyes met she smiled, but it was n't a smile of joy, and it made my heart ache. 66 'I went up to dine at the Hall, but I did n't see Amy. Miss Emily was to start at six o'clock in the evening, in a carriage-and-four, with her new husband, and Amy had promised not to leave until the governess was ready to follow; but, for all that, I was startled to hear from the lady's-maid that she had n't made any preparation for a move. I couldn't understand it; and I laid awake all night, tired as I was, thinking over what she was going to do. I heard it soon enough. A fortnight afterwards I had a message from the Hall, and in five minutes I was on the road there. Instead of taking me to the housekeeper's room, as they'd done since the young squire had been master there, I was walked up to the breakfast parlor, and there I found Amy." The old man paused and gasped for breath, then glanced towards the little northern grave, shook his head mournfully and continued, "She was n't dressed out in her silks, sir, but in a sort of white wrapping-gown; and I saw the minute I looked at her what I ought to have discovered long before. My head failed, I reeled, and hung on to a chair for support. "I'm an old man, sir; but if I was to live for another century I should never forget that day, nor the night that followed it. Amy sprang across the floor and threw herself on her knees before me but I had no mercy. It was more than I could bear. She had been my first thought in the morning and my last at night; my heart was bound up in her. I'd watched over her when she was an infant in the cradle, cherished her when she'd no other parent, given up everything for her when I needed her sorely in my own poor home, and all because I loved her better than myself, and wanted to make her happy, come what might of all else. And now my heart was wrung asunder, and my pride flew into my face and hissed in my ears; and the months and years of loneliness that I'd passed in my thatched and it 's music to the wild shriek that she gave as she "Oh, sir, a death-groan is very horrible; but started from the floor, and with white and shaking lips, and eyes that seemed as if they were burning in their sockets, thrust her hand into her bosom and pulled out a paper that she held before my eyes. that I had n't learning like her to mend a sin and But my time was n't come; and telling her to wipe away a shame with a bit of writing, I flung from the room." down his forehead, and his chest heaved with The old man paused; the sweat was trickling emotion. It was terrible to see such vividness of feeling outlive the wasted frame within which it labored; but he soon rallied. poor thing wrote to me a number of times: but the "Well, sir," he pursued, after a time, "the very look of her letters, that seemed as if they were only fit for gentle folks to read, angered me, for all that, poor lamb! And so she came to live and I would n't open one of 'em. She hoped on in the village; not upon the money that madam had left her-no, no! if she had done that I should n't have forgiven her to my last day, long as I might have lived-but upon what she earned bits of satin, that they sent to London for her to with her needle, working birds and flowers upon be sold. And she was at it late and early, as they had n't strength, but used to sit all day at her wintold me, till her hour was near; and then she dow, where she could see my wicket, and watch me as I went in and out to my work. know which was worst off in those days, for I had I don't that my sister's shame should never alter her love broke with my sweetheart, for all she promised for me, and I well knew that she'd keep her word; but though her mother said the same, she did n't say it in the same tone, and I saw she was pleased to have it over; and, disgraced as I was, I had my pride still, and stood firm. So I was glad when Mary took service in the market-town, and went away. son; but she never looked up again, and in three pined away together. I put on my hat and turned into the churchyard. I walked first to those two graves yonder, and pulled out a weed or two that had come with the last rains; and then I looked carefully about me. I did n't search long for what I wanted; and when I got to that corner where she lies, I paced the ground carefully, as close to the wall as I could with safety, till I found in how little space I could bury her; and then, when the day of her funeral came, I got up at daybreak and began my task. Nobody came near me; they knew that I could n't bear it then. And so I worked on alone, with the drizzling rain mixing with the cold sweat upon my forehead and chest, till I had dug a grave of ten foot deep. I wanted to bury her shame in the very bowels of the earth. Hers is the deepest grave in the whole churchyard except his. And, squire as he was," pursued the old man, with another of those savage smiles which formed so frightful a contrast with his usually placid expression, "I had my way there, too, when he came here in his turn. "The people she had lived with followed her funeral, and I stood a good way off and looked on, (for I had got a friend to do my duty for me,) till the crowd left the churchyard; and then he followed 'em as I'd asked him, and I was left alone beside her grave. I could see the coffin plainly, for they 'd only thrown a couple of spits of soil upon it. It was a pauper's coffin, sir, without a name or a date, but with the pauper brand instead, for she would have it so, and I had n't cared to interfere. But now, when I looked down at it, I thought my very heart would break. There was only that coarse plank between me and the thin, pale girl that lay there with her baby in her arms, and I could n't bear to lose sight of it; so I sat beside her till near sunset, thinking of all that was past, and how things had come to this after all my hopes and prayers. But at last I took up my spade, and an hour before nightfall I had filled in the grave, and buried my own heart with her. 'em had been written with her heart's blood! And The old man's voice had sunk almost into a whisper before it ceased; but, after the silence of a moment, he clasped his hands convulsively together, and looking up eagerly in my face, gasped 66 Amy was innocent, was n't she, sir?" "As innocent as an angel!" I replied solemnly, as I lifted my hat, in order to give force to my words. "Don't fancy that I fretted though it was so. I loved her dearly, even when I would n't see her in her agony nor on her deathbed; but she 'd deceived and disgraced me, and I felt as if I'd buried the little Amy who 'd grown up beside me till she found a prouder home; and that the Miss Saunders for they called her so, sir, through the whole country side to the very day of her death-out,that the Miss Saunders, who'd gone wrong, and been the shame of the village where she was born, and where her parents lay buried, was living yet to blight an honest name, and cheat a true heart that had trusted to her. So, sir, when, on going home, I found that she 'd left another thick letter for me, I put it away with the rest in a box where I had locked up my poor mother's wedding-ring, meaning to give it to Amy when she should marry in her turn; and I tried to forget that I had ever had a sister. But it would n't do; and though I got over the first two years, and used to feel glad when I looked towards her grave and saw that it could n't be seen for the nettles that had grown up about it, I gave way at last, And so, one Sabbath evening, when I was sitting in my desolate cot-purpose to bless you!" tage, I could contain myself no longer, but going "But tell me, my good friend," I said, anxious to the little box, I brought it to the table, and to check this exultation, so dangerous to a man pulling the candle closer, I read all the letters, of his age, "what said Amy herself in that last leaving the thick one to the last. I never knew letter?""" what torture was after that night, sir; all that I'd gone through before was nothing. Every one of One long sob of happiness gushed from the lips of the old man as he buried his face in his spread hands for an instant. "She was! she was!" he murmured beneath his breath. "The parson said so when he read the letters; and all the village said so, when he went round to their cottages and told 'em how happy they must be that had never insulted her in her sorrow. And now you, siryou, a stranger, and, belike, as great a man as Squire Darcourt himself-you say so too; and I feel as if my old heart had grown young again on "Not a word, sir," replied the sexton, hoarsely, as his head again drooped under the weight of his |