It was so cool in here, and all along I kept thinking of 'a refuge from the storm, a shadow in the heat,' and 'a great rock in a weary land.'" As we sat together at tea that evening, Eleanor went back to the subject of the church.

I made some remark about the gravestones in the aisles, and she said, "Next time we go in, I want to show you one of them in the chancel." "Who is buried there ?" I asked.
"My grandfather, he was vicar, you know, and my aunt, who was sixteen.
(My father has got the white gloves and wreath that were hung in the church for her.

They always used to do that for unmarried girls.) And my sister; my only sister--little Margaret." I could not say anything to poor Eleanor.

I stroked her head softly and kissed it.
"One thing that made me take to you," she went on, "was your name being Margaret.

I used to think she might have been like you.