"Your pardon—for my death-bed—Grantley—husband!"
He never turned, never paused—perhaps he did not hear—but walked steadily and firmly on.
Elizabeth looked up at the cold sky; the moon was partially hidden, the dawn was struggling up gray and chilled in the east, the wind moaned faintly among the graves, and rustled her garments like the stirring of a shroud; there she stood among the graves of her world, as utterly helpless and lost as if eternity swept between her and the past, and there she remained during some minutes that lengthened out like years, with the wind moaning around her and dead leaves crackling under her feet. She could see her old home through the naked trees, with the dull smoke curling in clouds above the chimneys, and the great trees sweeping their naked branches over it. Oh, how her heart yearned towards it, how wistfully her eyes watched all those signs of her forfeited life through the leafless grove and the drifting leaves!
"Can I help you, can I do anything?"
Elizabeth lifted her dreary eyes. It was North. The desolation of that poor woman smote him with remorse, his voice trembled with human pity.
"The money—you shall have part of that."
Elizabeth shook her head; she had no strength for resentment. All pride was crushed within her.
"Go," she said, "leave me here alone; I want nothing."
"But I cannot leave you so—I will not."
Elizabeth arose and stood upright among the graves.