A large window, reaching to the ground, opened on a
smooth and sloping lawn, which was adorned by most
beautiful flowers. It led to a small gate opening
on a long, narrow lane, which led to the Vicarage,
leaving the little church and its picturesque burying-ground
a little to the right; the thick grove which surrounded
it forming a leafy yet impenetrable wall to one side
of the garden. There were many very pretty tombs
in this churchyard; perhaps its beauty consisted in
its extreme neatness, and the flowers that the vicar,
Mr. Myrvin, took so much pleasure in carefully preserving.
One lowly grave, beneath a large and spreading yew,
was never passed unnoticed. A plain marble stone
denoted that there lay one, who had once been the
brightest amid the bright, the brilliant star of a
lordly circle. The name, her age, and two simple
verses were there inscribed; but around that humble
grave there were sweet flowers flourishing more luxuriantly
than in any other part of the churchyard; the climbing
honeysuckle twined its odoriferous clusters up the
dark trunk of the storm-resisting yew. Roses of
various kinds intermingled with the lowly violet,
the snowdrop, lily of the valley, the drooping convolvulus,
which, closing its petals for a time, is a fit emblem
of that sleep which, closing our eyes on earth, reopens
them in heaven, beneath the general warmth of the
sun of righteousness. These flowers were sacred
in the eyes of the villagers, and their children were
charged not to despoil them; and too deep was their
reverence for their minister, and too sacred was that
little spot of earth, even to their uncultured eyes,
for those commands ever to be disobeyed. But it
was not to Mr. Myrvin’s care alone that part
of the churchyard owed its beauty. It had ever
been distinguished from the rest by the flowers around
it; but it was only the last two years they had flourished
so luxuriantly; the hand of Lilla Grahame watered
and tended them with unceasing care. In the early
morning or the calm twilight she was seen beside the
grave, and many might have believed that there reposed
the ashes of a near and dear relation, but it was
not so. Lilla had never seen and never known
the lovely being whose last home she thus affectionately
tended. It was dear to her from its association
with him whom she loved, there her thoughts could
wander to him; and surely the love thus cherished
beside the dead must have been purity itself.
It was the hour that Lilla usually sought the churchyard, but she came not, and the lengthening shadows of a soft and lovely May evening fell around the graceful figure of a tall and elegant young man, in naval uniform, who lingered beside the grave; pensive, it seemed, yet scarcely melancholy. His fine expressive countenance seemed to breathe of happiness proceeding from the heart, chastened and softened by holier thoughts. A smile of deep feeling encircled his lips as he looked on the flowers, which in this season were just bursting