I told her that I would find my way to the churchyard in the mean time, whither Mr.Gorles could follow me as soon as convenient.
The autumnal morning was fresh and bright as spring, and Huxter's Cross seemed the most delightful place on earth to me, though it is only a cluster of cottages, relieved by one farmhouse of moderate pretensions, my hostelry of the Magpie, a general shop, which is also the post-office, and a fine old Norman church, which lies away from the village, and bears upon it the traces of better days.

Near the church there is an old granite cross, around which the wild flowers and grasses grow rank and high.

It marks the spot where there was once a flourishing market-place; but all mortal habitations have vanished, and the Huxter's Cross of the past has now no other memorial than this crumbling stone.
The churchyard was unutterably still and solitary.

A robin was perched on the topmost bar of the old wooden gate, singing his joyous carol.

As I approached, he hopped from the gate to the low moss-grown wall, and went on singing as I passed him.