veil over my face, and then, but not till then, burst into a flood of tears.
The gig rolled on—I looked back—my dear mother and sister were still standing at the door, looking after me, and waving their adieux: I returned their salute, and prayed God to bless them from my heart: we descended the hill, and I could see them no more.
"It's a coldish mornin' for you, Miss Agnes," observed Smith; "and a darksome un too; but we's, happen, get to yon' spot afore there come much rain to signify."
"Yes, I hope so," replied I, as calmly as I could.
"It's comed a good sup last night too."
"Yes."
"But this cold wind ull, happen, keep it off."
"Perhaps it will."
Here ended our colloquy; we crossed the valley, and began to ascend the opposite hill. As we were toiling up, I looked back again: there was the village spire, and the old grey parsonage beyond it, basking in a slanting beam of sunshine—it was but a sickly ray, but
