Save the small time-discoloured church and the roofs of the cottage and the minister's house, no building--not even a cotter's hut--was visible there.

Beneath a dark and single yew-tree in the centre of the ground was placed a rude seat; opposite to this seat was a grave, distinguished from the rest by a slight palisade.

As the young Evelyn passed slowly by this spot, a glove on the long damp grass beside the yew-tree caught her eye.

She took it up and sighed,--it was her mother's.

She sighed, for she thought of the soft melancholy on that mother's face which her caresses and her mirth never could wholly chase away.