"Is it anything particular?"
"Very particular, Aunt Hannah; but I will not enter upon the subject now," said Ishmael, raising his cup to his lips to prevent further questionings.
But when the tea was over and the table cleared away, Ishmael took the hand of his aunt and drew her towards the door, saying:
"Aunt Hannah, I want you to go with me to my mother's grave. It will not hurt you to do so; the night is beautiful, clear and dry, and there is no dew."
Wondering at the deep gravity of his words and manner, Hannah allowed him to draw her out of the house and up the hill behind it to Nora's grave at the foot of the old oak tree. It was a fine, bright, starlight night, and the rough headstone, rudely fashioned and set up by the professor, gleamed whitely out from the long shadowy grass.
Ishmael sank down upon the ground beside the grave, put his arms around the headstone, and for a space bowed his head.
Hannah seated herself upon a fragment of rock near him. But both remained silent for a few minutes.
It was Hannah who broke the spell.
"Ishmael, my dear," she said, "why have you drawn me out here, and what have you to say to me of such a serious nature that it can be uttered only here?"
But Ishmael still was silent—being bowed down with thought or grief.