When she had sung to her heart's content, up rose Madame, and began to walk
onward silently. I saw her glance once or twice, as before, toward the
village of Trillsworth, which lay in front, a little to our left, and
the smoke of which hung in a film over the brow of the hill. I think she
observed me, for she enquired--

'Wat is that a smoke there?'

'That is Trillsworth, Madame; there is a railway station there.'

'Oh, le chemin de fer, so near! I did not think. Where it goes?'

I told her, and silence returned.

Church Scarsdale is a very pretty and odd scene. The slightly undulating
sheep-walk dips suddenly into a wide glen, in the lap of which, by a
bright, winding rill, rise from the sward the ruins of a small abbey, with
a few solemn trees scattered round. The crows' nests hung untenanted in the
trees; the birds were foraging far away from their roosts. The very cattle
had forsaken the place. It was solitude itself.

Madame drew a long breath and smiled.

'Come down, come down, cheaile--come down to the churchyard.'

As we descended the slope which shut out the surrounding world, and the
scene grew more sad and lonely. Madame's spirits seemed to rise.

'See 'ow many grave-stones--one, _two_ hundred. Don't you love the dead,