burning face which still tingled painfully.

Having learned from the station agent, who had already sold her a
return ticket, that the north bound railway train, by which she
desired to travel home, would not depart until 7.15, she was
beguiled by the brilliance of the sky into the belief that she had
ample time, to comply with her mother's farewell request. Mrs.
Brentano had tied with a scrap of ribbon the bouquet of flowers,
bought by her daughter on the afternoon of her journey south, and
asked her to lay them on her mother's grave.

Anxious to accomplish this sacred mission Beryl took the faded
blossoms from her basket, added a cluster of chrysanthemums, a frond
of fern from the "branch" border, and hurried on to the cemetery.
When she reached the entrance, the gate was locked, but unwilling to
return without having gratified her mother's wish, she climbed into
a spreading cedar close by the low brick wall, and swung herself
easily down inside the enclosure.

Some time was lost in finding the Darrington lot, but at last she
stood before a tall iron railing, that bristled with lance-like
points, between the dust, of her ancestors and herself. In one
corner rose a beautiful monument, bearing on its front, in gilt
letters, the inscription "Helena Tracy, wife of R. L. Darrington."

Thrusting her hand through a space in the railing, Beryl dropped her
mother's withered Arkja tribute on the marble slab. Her dress was
caught by a sharp point of iron, and while endeavoring to disengage
it, she heard the shrill whistle of the R. R. engine. Tearing the
skirt away, she ran to the wall, climbed over, after some delay, and