"It's one of the foundations of my house."

The axe fell from the workman's hand, and with a blanched face he turned
to his fellows. It was too true. They were in the uppermost gallery; and
the "cave" had taken place directly below the new house. After a pause,
the "Fool" spoke again more feebly.

"The lady--quick!"

They brought her,--a wretched, fainting creature, with pallid face and
streaming eyes,--and fell back as she bent her face above him.

"It was built for you, Annie darling," he said in a hurried whisper,
"and has been waiting up there for you and me all these long days. It's
deeded to you, Annie; and you must--live there--with HIM! He will not
mind that I shall be always near you; for it stands above--my grave."

And he was right. In a few minutes later, when he had passed away, they
did not move him, but sat by his body all night with a torch at his feet
and head. And the next day they walled up the gallery as a vault; but
they put no mark or any sign thereon, trusting, rather, to the monument,
that, bright and cheerful, rose above him in the sunlight of the hill.
And those who heard the story said, "This is not an evidence of death
and gloom and sorrow, as are other monuments, but is a sign of life and
light and hope, wherefore shall all know that he who lies under it is
what men call--'a fool'."