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216 than once she had visited it; and it had cost De Vere his worst pang of remorse, when she pointed out the low grass mound, and said she prayed that her parent's spirit might be gladdened by the knowledge of how happy and how beloved was the child he had left a friendless orphan. It may be a superstition, but it is a grateful and a kindly one, which deems that the righteous dead watch over those they cherished in their pilgrimage on earth. Rebecca knelt beside the grave, but shrunk back—for at that instant a dark shadow fell upon it; she looked up, and saw the harsh and haggard face of Richard Vernon. "Back, lost and guilty one!" said he, pushing her aside with no gentle hand; "pollute not with your wretched presence the churchyard of your God, and the grave of your father. You mocked at my words when I prophesied of shame, and, lo! it has come upon you. Away!—as the servant of Him whom you have forgotten, I forbid you to remain in this sacred place!" Rebecca turned towards him with anger, which even her pity could not subdue. "I know not," said she coldly, "by what right you forbid the wife of a De Vere to approach the church his fathers built; but I leave it; for I would not further unkindness should pass between us." "Verily, this audacity passeth belief! I know, Rebecca, how you have mingled with the light and the profane; I know how, of your own will, you