Eveninhisanxiouspreoccupationhecouldseethatthechurchitselfwasaquaintandwonderfulpreservationofthepast。ForfourcenturiesithadbeensacredtothetombsoftheDorntonsandtheireffigiesinbrassandmarble，yet，asRandolphglancedatthestatelysarcophagusoftheunknownticketofleaveman，itscomplacentabsurdity，combinedwithhisnervousness，madehimalmosthysterical。Yetagain，itseemedtohimthatsomethingofthemysteryandinviolabilityofthepastnowinvestedthatdegradeddust，anditwouldbeanequalimpietytodisturbit。
MissEversleigh，againbelievinghisagitationcausedbythememoryofhisoldpatron，tactfullyhurriedhimaway。Yetitwasamorebitterthought，Ifear，thatnotonlywerehislipssealedtohischarmingcompaniononthesubjectinwhichtheycouldsympathize，buthisanxietypreventedhimfromavailinghimselfofthatinterviewtoexchangethelighterconfidenceshehadeagerlylookedforwardto。Itseemedcruelthathewasdebarredthischanceofknittingtheirfriendshipcloserbyanotherofthoseaccidentsthathadbroughtthemtogether。Andhewasawarethathisgloomyabstractionwasnoticedbyher。Atfirstshedrewherselfupinacertainproudreserve，andthen，perhaps，hisownnervousnessinfectingherinturn，hewasatlastterrifiedtoobservethat，asshestoodbeforethetomb，hercleargrayeyesfilledwithtears。
“Oh，pleasedon’tdothat——THERE，MissEversleigh，“heburstoutimpulsively。
“IwasthinkingofCousinJack，“shesaid，alittlestartledathisabruptness。“Sometimesitseemssostrangethatheisdead——I
scarcelycanbelieveit。“