Mildred waited for a moment and then glided out from the porch—he turned, saw her, and held out his arms without a word.
Mr. Lambert was the first to recover himself; for Mildred's tears, always long in coming, were now falling like rain.
'A sad welcome, my dear; but there, she would not have us grieving like this.'
'Oh, Arnold, how you have suffered! I never realised how much, till Richard stopped the horses, and then I saw you walking alone in the churchyard. The dews are falling, and you are bareheaded. You should take better care of yourself, for the children's sake.'
'Ay, ay; just what she said; but it has grown into a sort of habit with me. Cardie comes and fetches me in, night after night; the lad is a good lad; his mother was right after all.'
'Dear Betha; but you have not laid her here, Arnold?'
He shook his head.
'I could not, Mildred, though she wished it as much as I did. She often said she would like to lie within sight of the home where she had been so happy, and under the shadow of the church porch. She liked the thought of her children's feet passing so near her on their way to church, but I had no power to carry out her wish.'
'You mean the churchyard is closed?'
'Yes, owing to the increase of population, the influx of railway labourers, and the union workhouse, deaths in the parish became so numerous that there was danger of overcrowding. She lies in the cemetery.'