Edna rose and took her hat from the study table, and Mr. Hammond asked: 

“Do you intend to travel alone?”

“I shall be compelled to do so, as I know of no one who is going on to New York.  Of course, I dislike very much to travel alone, but in this instance I do not see how I can avoid it.”

“Do not put on your hat—­stay and spend the evening with me.”

“Thank you, sir, I want to go to the church and practice for the last time on the organ.  After to-morrow, I may never sing again in our dear choir.  Perhaps I may come back after awhile and stay an hour or two with you.”

During the past year she had accustomed herself to practising every Saturday afternoon the hymns selected by Mr. Hammond for the services of the ensuing day, and for this purpose had been furnished by the sexton with a key, which enabled her to enter the church whenever inclination prompted.  The church-yard was peaceful and silent as the pulseless dust in its numerous sepulchres; a beautiful red-bird sat on the edge of a marble vase that crowned the top of one of the monuments, and leisurely drank the water which yesterday’s clouds had poured there, and a rabbit nibbled the leaves of a cluster of pinks growing near a child’s grave.

Edna entered the cool church, went up into the gallery and sat down before the organ.  For some time the low, solemn tones whispered among the fluted columns that supported the gallery, and gradually swelled louder and fuller and richer as she sang: 

  “Cast thy burden on the Lord.”

Her sweet, well-trained voice faltered more than once, and tears fell thick and fast on the keys.  Finally she turned and looked down at the sacred spot where she had been baptized by Mr. Hammond, and where she had so often knelt to receive the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.

The church was remarkably handsome and certainly justified the pride with which the villagers exhibited it to all strangers.  The massive mahogany pew-doors were elaborately carved and surmounted by small crosses; the tall, arched windows were of superb stained glass, representing the twelve apostles; the floor and balustrade of the altar, and the grand Gothic pillared pulpit, were all of the purest white marble; and the capitals of the airy, elegant columns of the same material, that supported the organ gallery, were ornamented with rich grape-leaf moulding; while the large window behind and above the pulpit contained a figure of Christ bearing his Cross—­a noble copy of the great painting of Solario, at Berlin.

As the afternoon sun shone on the glass, a flood of ruby light fell from the garments of Jesus upon the glittering marble beneath, and the nimbus that radiated around the crown of thorns caught a glory that was dazzling.