Chapter 16

           

           Thesunwassettingwhentheyreachedthewicket-gateatwhichthepathbegan,and,astherainfallsuponthejustandunjustalike,itsheditswarmtintevenupontheresting-placesofthedead,andbadethembeofgoodhopeforitsrisingonthemorrow.Thechurchwasoldandgrey,withivyclingingtothewalls,androundtheporch.Shunningthetombs,itcreptaboutthemounds,beneathwhichsleptpoorhumblemen:twiningforthemthefirstwreathstheyhadeverwon,butwreathslessliabletowitherandfarmorelastingintheirkind,thansomewhichweregravendeepinstoneandmarble,andtoldinpompoustermsofvirtuesmeeklyhiddenformanyayear,andonlyrevealedatlasttoexecutorsandmourninglegatees.

           Theclergyman’shorse,stumblingwithadullbluntsoundamongthegraves,wascroppingthegrass;atoncederivingorthodoxconsolationfromthedeadparishioners,andenforcinglastSunday’stextthatthiswaswhatallfleshcameto;aleanasswhohadsoughttoexpounditalso,withoutbeingqualifiedandordained,wasprickinghisearsinanemptypoundhardby,andlookingwithhungryeyesuponhispriestlyneighbour.

           Theoldmanandthechildquittedthegravelpath,andstrayedamongthetombs;fortherethegroundwassoft,andeasytotheirtiredfeet.Astheypassedbehindthechurch,theyheardvoicesnearathand,andpresentlycameonthosewhohadspoken.

           Theyweretwomenwhowereseatedineasyattitudesuponthegrass,andsobusilyengagedastobeatfirstunconsciousofintruders.

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