hill, without uncovering the body; and though it seemed a sin and shame to
cover up that beautiful body with earth of the grave, and give it to the
worm, yet he resolved to obey.

Be it confessed that, beautiful as the dead form looked, and guiltless as
Septimius must be held in causing his death, still he felt as if he should
be eased when it was under the ground. He hastened down to the house, and
brought up a shovel and a pickaxe, and began his unwonted task of
grave-digging, delving earnestly a deep pit, sometimes pausing in his
toil, while the sweat-drops poured from him, to look at the beautiful clay
that was to occupy it. Sometimes he paused, too, to listen to the shots
that pealed in the far distance, towards the east, whither the battle had
long since rolled out of reach and almost out of hearing. It seemed to
have gathered about itself the whole life of the land, attending it along
its bloody course in a struggling throng of shouting, shooting men, so
still and solitary was everything left behind it. It seemed the very
midland solitude of the world where Septimius was delving at the grave. He
and his dead were alone together, and he was going to put the body under
the sod, and be quite alone.

The grave was now deep, and Septimius was stooping down into its depths
among dirt and pebbles, levelling off the bottom, which he considered to
be profound enough to hide the young man's mystery forever, when a voice
spoke above him; a solemn, quiet voice, which he knew well.

"Septimius! what are you doing here?"

He looked up and saw the minister.

"I have slain a man in fair fight," answered he, "and am about to bury him