They would have turned to go, then, but Miss Deborah laid her hand on Miss Ruth's arm.

"Why, sister," she said, "who is that by Mary Jeffrey's grave ?" Some one was lying upon the grass, her cheek resting against the small marble cross at the head of the grave, and one arm thrown around it.
"It must be Helen!" answered Miss Ruth anxiously.

"How imprudent!" They went towards the prostrate figure,--there were no divisions in the Ashurst burying-ground,--and Miss Deborah stooped and touched her on the shoulder, saying in a shocked voice, for Helen was shaken with sobs, "Why, my dear child, what is the matter ?" Helen started violently, and then sat up, brushing the tears away, and struggling to speak calmly.

"I--I did not know any one was here." "We were just going," Miss Ruth replied in her kind little voice, "but we were grieved to see you troubled, my dear ?" Miss Ruth could not help saying it in a questioning way, for, in spite of Ashurst traditions of parental love, it could hardly be imagined that Helen was crying for a mother she had never known.
"You are very kind," Helen said, the tears still trembling in her eyes.
"Something did trouble me--and--and I came here." The sisters spoke some gentle words of this young mother, dead now for more than twenty years, and then went softly away, full of sympathy, yet fearing to intrude, though wondering in their kind hearts what could be the matter.

But their curiosity faded; Mr.Denner's grave was a much more important thing than Helen's unknown grief.
"I dare say she misses her husband ?" Miss Ruth suggested.
But Miss Deborah thought that quite improbable.