They passed the church, lit up with the moonlight, clear
enough to make every grave visible; a lovely light, in which all the
dead seemed to be sleeping restfully. He sighed heavily as he passed by.
Sophy was clinging to him, sobbing now and then; for her agitation had
subsided into a weak dejection, which found no relief but in tears.
Every step they trod along the too familiar road brought a fresh pang to
him. For thousands of memories of happy days haunted him; and a thousand
vague fears dogged him. He dared not open his heart either to the
memories or the fears. Nothing was possible to him, except a silent,
continuous cry to God for help.
"It is a melancholy coming home," Sophy murmured, as they stood together
on the threshold of their aunt's house. He had not time to answer, for
the door was opened quickly, and Mrs. Bolton hurried forward to welcome
him. She had been expecting him for some time, for Ann Holland had sent
word that both he and Mrs. Chantrey were at her house. One glance at his
anxious and sorrowful face revealed to her the anguish of the last few
hours.
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