leen had no one--

With a little cry the Lady in Black sprang to her feet and hurried into
her own room. Her hands shook as she pinned on her hat and shrouded
herself in the long folds of her black veil; but her step was firm as
she swept downstairs and out through the hall.

The man under the apple tree rose hurriedly and came forward.

"Helen, dearest,--not again, to-day!" he begged. "Darling, it can't do
any good!"

"But she's alone--all alone. You don't seem to think! No one
thinks--no one knows how I feel. You don't understand--if you did,
you'd come with me. You wouldn't ask me to stay--here!" choked the
woman.

"I have been with you, dear," said the man gently. "I 've been with
you to-day, and every day, almost, since--since she left us. But it
can't do any good--this constant brooding over her grave. It only
makes additional sorrow for you, for me, and for Bobby. Bobby
is--here, you know, dear!"

"No, no, don't say it," sobbed the woman wildly. "You don't
understand--you don't understand!" And she turned and hurried away, a
tall black shadow of grief, followed by the anguished eyes of the man,
and the wistful puzzled eyes of the boy.

It was not a long walk to the tree-embowered plot of ground where the
marble shafts and slabs glistened in the sunlight, and the Lady in
Black knew the way; yet she stumbled and reached out blindly, and she
fell, as if exhausted, before a little stone marked "Kathleen." Near
her a gray-haired woman, with her hands full of pink and white roses,
watched her sympathetically. She hesitated, and opened her lips as if
she would speak, then she turned slowly and began to arrange her
flowers on a grave near by.

At the slight stir the Lady in Black raised her head. For a time she
watched in silence; then she threw back her veil and spoke.

"You care, too," she said softly. "You understand. I've seen you here
before, I'm sure. And was yours--a little girl?"

The gray-haired woman shook her head.

"No, dearie, it's a little boy--or he was a little boy forty years ago."

"Forty years--so long! How could you have lived forty years--without
him?"

Again the little woman shook her head.

"One has to--sometimes, dearie; but this little boy was n't mine. He
was none of my kith nor kin."

"But you care--you understand. I 've seen you here so often before."

"Yes. You see, there's no one else to care. But there was once, and I
'm caring now--for her."

"