But I knew it was not these he saw, but rather the grey English church, and the graves ranged side by side before the yew near the wicket gate.
It was there on the stoep that he died. He had not been well, and one evening I was talking to him, and his mind went back to Oxfordshire and my mother. He spoke of her a good deal, saying that she had never been out of his mind for a single day during all these years, and that he rejoiced to think he was drawing near that land wither she had gone. Then he asked me if I remembered the night when Squire Carson came into the study at the vicarage, and told him that his wife had run away, and that he was going to change his name and bury himself in some remote land.
I answered that I remembered it perfectly.
"I wonder where he went to," said my father, "and if he and his daughter Stella are still alive. Well, well! I shall never meet them aga