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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"


"I've been thinkin'," said mistress Brookes at length, "seein' it's
a bonny starry nicht, we couldna do better than lift an' lay doon
this varra nicht. The hoose is asleep."
"What do you say to that place in the park where was once a
mausoleum?" said Donal.
"It's the varra place!--an' the sooner the better--dinna ye think,
my lady?"
Arctura with a look referred the question to Donal.
"Surely," he answered. "But will there not be some preparations to
make?"
"There's no need o' mony!" returned the housekeeper. "I'll get a
fine auld sheet, an' intil 't we'll put the remains, an' row them
up, an' carry them to their hame. I'll go an' get it, my lady.--But
wouldna 't be better for you and me, sir, to get a' that dune by
oorsel's? My leddy could j'in us whan we cam up."
"She wouldn't like to be left here alone. There is nothing to be
called fearsome!"
"Nothing at all," said Arctura.
"The forces of nature," said Donal, "are constantly at work to
destroy the dreadful, and restore the wholesome. It is but a few
handfuls of clean dust."
The housekeeper went to one of her presses, and brought out a sheet.
Donal put a plaid round lady Arctura. They went up to her room, and
so down to the chapel. Half-way down the narrow descent mistress
Brookes murmured, "Eh, sirs!" and said no more.
Each carried a light, and the two could see the chapel better.


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