"Mind you keep that comfortable warm cloak on," said the same
voice which I had already heard--the voice of the woman in the
shawl. "Mrs. Todd is right about your looking too particular,
yesterday, all in white. I'll walk about a little while you're
here, churchyards being not at all in my way, whatever they may be
in yours. Finish what you want to do before I come back, and let
us be sure and get home again before night."

With those words she turned about, and retracing her steps,
advanced with her face towards me. It was the face of an elderly
woman, brown, rugged, and healthy, with nothing dishonest or
suspicious in the look of it. Close to the church she stopped to
pull her shawl closer round her.

"Queer," she said to herself, "always queer, with her whims and
her ways, ever since I can remember her. Harmless, though--as
harmless, poor soul, as a little child."

She sighed--looked about the burial-ground nervously--shook her
head, as if the dreary prospect by no means pleased her, and
disappeared round the corner of the church.

I doubted for a moment whether I ought to follow and speak to her
or not. My intense anxiety to find myself face to face with her
companion helped me to decide in the negative. I could ensure
seeing the woman in the shawl by waiting near the churchyard until
she came back--although it seemed more than doubtful whether she
could give me the information of which I was in search. The
person who had delivered the letter was of little consequence.