They were on the point of descending the new grounds, in order to return to the castle, when a servant came hastily to meet them, and, with a laugh on his face, called up from below, “Will your grace be pleased to come quickly to the castle?  The Herr Mittler has just galloped into the court.  He shouted to us, to go all of us in search of you, and we were to ask whether there was need; ‘whether there is need,’ he cried after us, ‘do you hear?  But be quick, be quick.’”

“The odd fellow,” exclaimed Edward.  “But has he not come at the right time, Charlotte?  Tell him, there is need,—­grievous need.  He must alight.  See his horse taken care of.  Take him into the saloon, and let him have some luncheon.  We shall be with him immediately.”

“Let us take the nearest way,” he said to his wife, and struck into the path across the churchyard, which he usually avoided.  He was not a little surprised to find here, too, traces of Charlotte’s delicate hand.  Sparing, as far as possible, the old monuments, she had contrived to level it, and lay it carefully out, so as to make it appear a pleasant spot on which the eye and the imagination could equally repose with pleasure.  The oldest stones had each their special honor assigned them.  They were ranged according to their dates along the wall, either leaning against it, or let into it, or however it could be contrived; and the string-course of the church was thus variously ornamented.

Edward was singularly affected as he came in upon it through the little wicket; he pressed Charlotte’s hand, and tears started into his eyes.  But these were very soon put to flight, by the appearance of their singular visitor.  This gentleman had declined sitting down in the castle; he had ridden straight through the village to the churchyard gate; and then, halting, he called out to his friends, “Are you not making a fool of me?  Is there need, really?  If there is, I can stay till mid-day.  But don’t keep me.  I have a great deal to do before night.”

“Since you have taken the trouble to come so far,” cried Edward to him, in answer, “you had better come through the gate.  We meet at a solemn spot.  Come and see the variety which Charlotte has thrown over its sadness.”

“Inside there,” called out the rider, “come I neither on horseback, nor in carriage, nor on foot.  These here rest in peace:  with them I have nothing to do.  One day I shall be carried in feet foremost.  I must bear that as I can.  Is it serious, I want to know?”

“Indeed it is,” cried Charlotte, “right serious.  For the first time in our married lives, we are in a strait and difficulty, from which we do not know how to extricate ourselves.”

“You do not look as if it were so,” answered he.  “But I will believe you.  If you are deceiving me, for the future you shall help yourselves.  Follow me quickly, my horse will be none the worse for a rest.”