strong and convulsive effort she rose, for nothing could prevent her following her more than father to the grave.
All parade had been avoided by Sir Jasper's express orders; but the poor of the whole neighbourhood gathered to pay the last respect to the remains of their friend and benefactor. The churchyard was crowded; and yet so deep was the stillness, that not one word was lost of the burial-service. Afterwards, it was a pleasure to Lady Marchmont to think of the affection evinced towards her uncle; but, at the time, the numbers oppressed her: she would have given worlds to have been alone in the churchyard. With an agony too great for endurance, she heard the ropes creak as they lowered the coffin into the ground; and when the gravel rattled on the lid, it struck too upon her heart. To her dying hour she was haunted by the fearful sound; it came upon her ear in the stillness of night, making her start from her restless pillow; and often did she hear it, amid light and music, turning her pale with the image of death even while
