At the same time, since his way homeward lay under
the churchyard yews, he resolved to look into the belfry in
passing by, and speak a word to Martin Cannister, who would be
there.
Stephen reached the brow of the hill, and felt inclined to
renounce his idea. His mood was such that talking to any person
to whom he could not unburden himself would be wearisome.
However, before he could put any inclination into effect, the
young man saw from amid the trees a bright light shining, the rays
from which radiated like needles through the sad plumy foliage of
the yews. Its direction was from the centre of the churchyard.
Stephen mechanically went forward. Never could there be a greater
contrast between two places of like purpose than between this
graveyard and that of the further village. Here the grass was
carefully tended, and formed virtually a part of the manor-house
lawn; flowers and shrubs being planted indiscriminately over both,
whilst the few graves visible were mathematically exact in shape
and smoothness, appearing in the daytime like chins newly shaven.
There was no wall, the division between God's Acre and Lord
Luxellian's being marked only by a few square stones set at
equidistant points. Among those persons who have romantic
sentiments on the subject of their last dwelling-place, probably
the greater number would have chosen such a spot as this in
preference to any other: a few would have fancied a constraint in
its trim neatness, and would have preferred the wild hill-top of
the neighbouring site, with Nature in her most negligent attire.
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