"There it is—there it is"—he at length cried bounding forward to the head of a grave, separated from the turf around, by a couple of iron bars supported by small pillars of the same metal; some heartsease and laurels adorned the little enclosure; and at the head a block of marble carved to represent a gothic niche, and surmounted by the armorial bearings of the deceased, bore the following inscription:—
SACRED
TO THE MEMORY OF
COLONEL D'ARCY VERNON,
OF DUNGAR,
JUST, GENEROUS, BRAVE, AND TRUE.
THIS STONE IS ERECTED BY A MOURNING RELATIVE,
ONE OF THE MANY WHO OWE HIM AN
UNREQUITABLE DEBT OF GRATITUDE.
This simple, noble epitaph touched and gratified Miss Vernon's inmost soul. Simply and fervently she raised her soul to Heaven in silent prayer; and, at last, soothed and calmed by the just tribute so gracefully paid to the departed, she called to Willie, who (soon wearied of her motionless attitude) had wandered away.
"I can never feel a shadow of anger against Georgy again for anything," she thought, as her eye took in all the advantages of the well-chosen site—it was in the highest part of the cemetery; far below, lay the mighty town, looming indistinct through the cloud and smoke that shrouded it, like life with its trials, mean and great all hidden, in their tendencies, by the mist of human vision—while around and beyond was the clear blue sky, the balmy air, and the song of the birds, like the region of pure joy, and undimmed faith, to which the wearied spirit had escaped.
"Please 'm, there's a gentleman waiting to see you in the drawing-room," said the spruce Maria, one evening about a week after, when Kate and Mrs. Storey returned from a round of visits, into which the former had been entrapped.
"Indeed," said Kate, then suddenly recollecting herself, "I dare say it is Colonel Dashwood."
"Well, my dear, I will go and take off my bonnet, and, by that time, you will have finished your secrets."