Rebecca uncovered not her face till they reached the newly dug grave; she then cast one shuddering look, and again closed her veil. The service commenced, and a slight start spoke other emotion than grief, when she heard the voice of Richard Vernon begin the solemn ritual. It ended, and Rebecca remained motionless on her knee till her attention was awakened by that fearful and peculiar sound—a sound to which earth has no parallel—the rattle of the falling gravel on the coffin. She sprang forward. "Let me—let me gaze on him once again!"
She saw nothing but the black, damp mould, and sank back, unresisting, on the arm of Richard Vernon.
"My house is close at hand," said he, inquiringly to her aged companion.
"For the love of God, take her thither!" was the reply. "There is neither water nor aught else here; and she looks like one of the stone figures on the graves around us."
Rebecca was carried, still insensible, into the little parlour; and, with a tenderness that seemed foreign to his nature, Vernon placed her in a large antique settle, which he drew towards the window, fetched water, and left her and the good woman alone. Even when Rebecca revived, it was only for a while, to give way to bursts of passionate weeping. Old Hannah's affectionate soothing having at length calmed her, on rising to depart, she said
