walk he came within sight of Broxton Chapel and its grave-yard his steps slackened, and when he reached the gate, he stopped a moment and pushed it open and turned in.
It was a quiet little place, with an almost rustic air, of which even the small, ugly chapel could not rob it. The grass grew long upon the mounds of earth and swayed softly in the warm wind. Only common folk lay there, and there were no monuments and even few slabs. Murdoch glanced across the sun-lit space to the grass-covered mound of which he had thought when he stopped at the gateway.
He had not thought of meeting any one, and at the first moment the sight of a figure standing at the grave-side in the sunshine was something of a shock to him. He went forward more slowly, even with some reluctance, though he had recognized at once that the figure was that of Christian Murdoch.
She stood quite still, looking down, not hearing him until he was close upon her. She seemed startled when she saw him.
"Why did you come here?" she asked.
"I don't know," he answered. "I needed quiet, I suppose, and the place has a quiet look. Why did you come?"
"It is not the first time I have been," she said. "I come here often."
"You!" he said. "Why?"
She pointed to the mound at her feet.
"Because he is here," she said, "and I have learned to care for him."
She knelt down and laid her hand upon the grass, and he remembered her emotion in the strange scene which had occurred before."
