He stood a few minutes reading over and over again the words on the tombstone, as if to assure himself that all the happy and unhappy past was a reality.

For love is frightened at the intervals of insensibility and callousness that encroach by little and little on the dominion of grief, and it makes efforts to recall the keenness of the first anguish.
Gradually, as his eye dwelt on the words, 'Amelia, the beloved wife,' the waves of feeling swelled within his soul, and he threw himself on the grave, clasping it with his arms, and kissing the cold turf.
'Milly, Milly, dost thou hear me?
I didn't love thee enough--I wasn't tender enough to thee--but I think of it all now.' The sobs came and choked his utterance, and the warm tears fell.
CONCLUSION Only once again in his life has Amos Barton visited Milly's grave.

It was in the calm and softened light of an autumnal afternoon, and he was not alone.

He held on his arm a young woman, with a sweet, grave face, which strongly recalled the expression of Mrs.Barton's, but was less lovely in form and colour.

She was about thirty, but there were some premature lines round her mouth and eyes, which told of early anxiety.
Amos himself was much changed.