Now and then an acquaintance, returning from afternoon service, looked up to bow to her, and while the daylight was still strong, Marthy, resplendent in Sunday raiment, came out of the little green gate at the side of the yard and passed, mincing, in the direction of the negro church.

Then the door opened slowly, and the two old maids came in and stopped for a minute at the parlour door to see if Gabriella "had company." "Such a lovely evening, my dear"-- they never used the word afternoon--"we went all the way to the cemetery.

She was buried in her grandfather's lot, you know, in the old part up on the hill.

It was a beautiful drive, but Amelia and I couldn't help thinking of the poor young thing all the time." It was Miss Jemima who had spoken, and her kind, plain face, all puffs and pleasant wrinkles, had not yet relaxed from the unnatural solemnity it had worn at the funeral.

She was seldom grave, and never despondent, though to Gabriella she appeared to lead an unendurable life.