Those breathless instants were as the mirror of what seemed to be fifty years of fear and hope.
Ralph determined that no power on earth should remove his hand from the bridle until his father had at length been buried.

The parish of Askham must have its church and churchyard, and Angus Ray should be buried there.

They had not yet passed by the church--it must be still in front of them--and with the horse and its burden by their side the friends walked on.
When Ralph found voice to speak, he said, "Wednesday--then it is three weeks to-day since we lost her, and for three weeks my father has waited sepulture!" Presently they came within sight of a rude chapel that stood at the meeting of two roads.

A finger-post was at the angle, with arms pointing in three directions.

The chapel was a low whitewashed Gothic building, with a little belfry in which there hung no bell.