Clasping his hands, he uttered a short unearthly broken cry, and went his way. The brother and sister were left looking at one another near a lamp in the solitary churchyard, and the boy’s face clouded and darkened, as he said in a rough tone: “What is the meaning of this? What have you done to my best friend? Out with the truth!”

“Charley!” said his sister. “Speak a little more considerately!”

“I am not in the humour for consideration, or for nonsense of any sort,” replied the boy. “What have you been doing? Why has Mr. Headstone gone from us in that way?”

“He asked me⁠—you know he asked me⁠—to be his wife, Charley.”

“Well?” said the boy, impatiently.

“And I was obliged to tell him that I could not be his wife.”