" Ambrose made answer, his voice hushed and very
tender.

"He was varra changed like," murmured Daffe, his hand wandering amongst
the golden blossoms of the stonecrop. "He niver were the same crittur
arter the lass went awa'. He niver were the same--niver. Ta seemed tew
mak an auld man o' him a' at once."

"It did," said Ambrose, brokenly. "He couldna bear tew look na tew spik
to nane o' us. He were bent i' body, an' gray o' head, that awfu' night
when he kem back fra' the waking. It were fearfu' tew see; and we
couldna dew naught. Th' ony thing as he'd take tew were Trust."

"Be dog alive?"

"Na. Trust he'd never quit o' Ben's grave. He wouldna take bit na drop.
He wouldna be touchit; not whin he was clem would he be tempted awa'.
And he died--jist tha fifth day arter his master."

"An' the wench? Hev' 'ee e'er heerd on her?"

"Niver--niver. Mappen she's dead and gone tew. She broke Ben's heart for
sure; long ere tha ston' crushit life out o't."

"And wheer may he lie?"

Ambrose clenched his brawny hand, his eyes darkened, his swarthy face
flushed duskily.

"Wheer? What think 'ee, Daffe? When we took o' him up for the burial, ta
tha church ower theer beyant tha wood, the passon he stoppit us, a' tha
gate of tha buryin' field. The passon he med long words, and sed as how
a unb'liever sud niver rest i' blessed groun', sin he willna iver enter
into the sight o' tha Lord. He sed as how Ben were black o' heart and
wicked o' mind, an' niver set fute i' church-door, and niver ate o' tha
sacrament bread, and niver not thocht o' God nor o' Devil; an' he
wouldna say tha rites o'er him an' 'twere iver so, an' he wouldna let
him lie i' tha holy earth, nor i' tha pale o' tha graveyard. Well, we
couldna gae agin him--we poor min, an' he a squire and passon tew. Sae
we took him back, five weary mile; and we brocht him here, and we dug
his grave under them pines, and we pit a cross o' tha bark to mark the
place, and we laid old Trust, when he died, by his side. I were mad with
grief like, thin; it were awfu' ta ha' him forbad Christian burial."

"Dew it matter?" asked the gentle Daffe, wistfully. He had never been
within church-doors himself.

Ambrose gave a long troubled sigh.

"Aweel! at first it seemed awfu'--awfu'! And to think as Ben 'ud niver
see the face o' his God was mair fearfu' still. But as time gees on and
on--I can see his grave fra' here, tha cross we cut is tha glimmer o'
white on that stem ayont,--it de