ssing pair. It was said that they
had been found tightly locked in each other's arms, his lips upon hers,
their features still wrapt in the same calm and dream-like repose which
had been observed in their demeanour as they had glided along.

'Neither James nor Emily questioned the original motives of the
unfortunate man and woman in putting to sea. They were both above
suspicion as to intention. Whatever their mutual feelings might have led
them on to, underhand behaviour was foreign to the nature of either.
Conjecture pictured that they might have fallen into tender reverie while
gazing each into a pair of eyes that had formerly flashed for him and her
alone, and, unwilling to avow what their mutual sentiments were, they had
continued thus, oblivious of time and space, till darkness suddenly
overtook them far from land. But nothing was truly known. It had been
their destiny to die thus. The two halves, intended by Nature to make
the perfect whole, had failed in that result during their lives, though
"in their death they were not divided." Their bodies were brought home,
and buried on one day. I remember that, on looking round the churchyard
while reading the service, I observed nearly all the parish at their
funeral.'

'It was so, sir,' said the clerk.

'The remaining two,' continued the curate (whose voice had grown husky
while relating the lovers' sad fate), 'were a more thoughtful and far-
seeing, though less romantic, couple than the first. They were now
mutually bereft of a companion, and found themselves by this accident in
a position to fulfil their destiny according to Nature's plan and their
own original and calmly-formed intention. James Hardcome took Emily to
wife in the course of a year and a half; and the marriage proved in every
respect a happy one. I solemnized the service, Hardcome having told me,
when he came to give notice of the proposed wedding, the story of his
first wife's loss almost word for word as I have told it to you.'

'And are they living in Longpuddle still?' asked the new-comer.

'O no, sir,' interposed the clerk. 'James has been dead these dozen
years, and his mis'ess about six or seven. They had no children. William
Privett used to be their odd man till he died.'

'Ah--William Privett! He dead too?--dear me!' said the other. 'All
passed away!'

'Yes, sir. William was much older than I. He'd ha' been over eighty if
he had lived till now.'

'There was something