ossy margin, dipped up the amber
water in her palms, drank, and bathed her 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 finding
herself once more in the open road, darted on as fast as possible
through the dusk, heedless of appearances, fearful only of missing the
train. How the houses multiplied, and what interminable lengths the
squares seemed, as she neared the brick warehouse and office of the
station! The lamps at the street corners beckoned her on, and when
panting for breath she rushed around the side of the tall building that
fronted the railway, there was no train in sight.

Two or three coal cars stood on a siding, near a detached engine, where
one man was lighting the lamp before the reflector of the headlight,
and another, who whistled merrily, burnished the brass and copper
platings. In the door of the ticket office the agent lounged, p