“THESE THREE.” 89

It had made its way this time into the churchyard,
and had reached the foot of a tombstone, up
which it was beginning to creep. ,

“T belong to Death,” said the Tombstone,
haughtily, as he stood upright in the cold light
of the moon ; and the letters which formed the
record came out dark on the surface from the
shadows which fell within them. “I belong to
Death,” he kept repeating all along.

But the moss took no notice, and went on
creeping. ,

“T belong to Death,” persisted the Tombstone
long afterwards, though the winter had passed
away, and the moss was beginning to show green
in a fresh spring.

What age the stone was at that time I cannot
say. But it recorded the deaths of an old rector
and his wife, who had only been parted a few days.
Weather beat upon it—crawling things passed
over it—lichens discoloured it,—it was very old
and grey; but still the moss crept on. On and
upwards, till it got into the letters of the record.
where the shadows had fallen before.