end of the last camp, she threaded her way among the stones and bushes till
she reached the German's grave. Why she had come there she hardly knew;
she stood looking down. Suddenly she bent and put one hand on the face of
a wet stone.

"I shall never come to you again," she said.

Then she knelt on the ground, and leaned her face upon the stones.

"Dear old man, good old man, I am so tired!" she said (for we will come to
the dead to tell secrets we would never have told to the living). I am so
tired. There is light, there is warmth," she wailed; "why am I alone, so
hard, so cold? I am so weary of myself! It is eating my soul to its core-
-self, self, self! I cannot bear this life! I cannot breathe, I cannot
live! Will nothing free me from myself?" She pressed her cheek against
the wooden post. "I want to love! I want something great and pure to lift
me to itself! Dear old man, I cannot bear it any more! I am so cold, so
hard, so hard; will no one help me?"

The water gathered slowly on her shawl, and fell on to the wet stones; but
she lay there crying bitterly. For so the living soul will cry to the
dead, and the creature to its God; and of all this crying there comes
nothing. The lifting up of the hands brings no salvation; redemption is
from within, and neither from God nor man; it is wrought out by the soul
itself, with suffering and through time.

Doss, on the kitchen doorstep, shivered, and wondered where his mistress
stayed so long; and once, sitting sadly there in the damp, he had dropped
asleep, and dreamed that old Otto gave him a piece of bread, and patted him
on the head, and when he woke his teeth chattered, and he moved to another