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328 must come with me," said he, after a few moments' silence: "you will now know why I would not let you go through the churchyard this week." They turned into the little path that led to the church, whose Gothic windows were kindled by the setting sun. Even the dark yew trees were lighted up as if by some lustrous and spiritual presence. His wife saw that beneath the one to which they were approaching, a monument had been newly erected. "It was his last wish," said Norbourne, "not to be buried in London." "Ethel looked up, and read on a white marble tablet the brief inscription of—""