A broad and gloomy margin was spreading from the boundary of the
woods, and, here and there, a solitary tree cast its shadow on the meadows
without its limits, throwing a dark ragged line, in bold relief, on the
glow of the sun's rays. One, it was the dusky image of a high and waving
pine, that reared its dark green pyramid of never-fading foliage nearly a
hundred feet above the humbler growth of beeches, cast its shade to the
side of the eminence of the block. Here the pointed extremity of the
shadow was seen, stealing slowly towards the open grave,--an emblem of
that oblivion in which its humble tenants were so shortly to be wrapped.
At this spot, Mark Heathcote and his remaining companions had assembled.
An oaken chair, saved from the flames, was the seat of the father; and two
parallel benches, formed of planks placed on stones, held the other
members of the family. The grave lay between. The patriarch had taken his
station at one of its ends; while the stranger, so often named in these
pages, stood with folded arms and a thoughtful brow at the other.
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