This is a maloncally thort! I fell to mewsing on M., with hoom I injoy'd such compleat happyness, tel Deth came like a spekter to bannish all comforte.

And now I knowe that our lives wear vainity.

I ashure you, dear sister, I am prodidjusly sadd when I reffleckt upon this truth--ashuredly it is a harde saying." Anon comes that strange foreknowledge of death--that instinctive sense of the shadowy hand so soon to lay him at rest; and with that mystic prescience comes a yearning for the little child M.to be laid where his father may lay down beside him.

There are many passages in the latter letters which afford a clue to that mysterious midnight burial at Dewsdale.
"Last nite I drem't of the cherchyarde at S.I satte under the olde yewe tree, as it semed in my dreme, and hurd a childes voice crying in a very piteous mannerr.

The thort of this dreme has oppress'd my speritts all day, and Rebecka has enquier'd more than wunce wot ales me.