stant, and on the farther side of it MacDonald was
already returning. Aldous hurried down to meet him. He did not speak when
they met, but his companion answered the question in his eyes, while the
water dripped in streams from his drenched hair and beard.

"It's there," he said, pointing back. "Just behind that big black rock.
There's a slab over it, an' you've got the name right. It's Mortimer
FitzHugh."

Above them the clouds were splitting asunder. A shaft of sunlight broke
through, and as they stood looking over the little lake the shaft
broadened, and the sun swept in golden triumph over the mountains.
MacDonald beat his limp hat against his knee, and with his other hand
drained the water from his beard.

"What you goin' to do?" he asked.

Aldous turned toward the timber. Joanne herself answered the question. She
was coming up the slope. In a few moments she stood beside them. First she
looked down upon the lake. Then her eyes turned to Aldous. There was no
need for speech. He held out his hand, and without hesitation she gave him
her own. MacDonald understood. He walked down ahead of them toward the
black rock. When he came to the rock he paused. Aldous and Joanne passed
him. Then they, too, stopped, and Aldous freed the girl's hand.

With an unexpectedness that was startling they had come upon the grave. Yet
not a sound escaped Joanne's lips. Aldous could not see that she was
breathing. Less than ten paces from them was the mound, protected by its
cairn of stones; and over the stones rose a weather-stained slab in the
form of a cross. One glance at the grave and Aldous riveted his eyes upon
Joanne. For a full minute she stood as motionless as though the last breath
had left her body. Then, slowly, she advanced. He could not see her face.
He followed, quietly, step by step as she moved. For another minute she
leaned over the slab, making out the fine-seared letters of the name. Her
body was bent forward; her two hands were clenched tightly at her side.
Even more slowly than she had advanced she turned toward Aldous and
MacDonald. Her face was dead white. She lifted her hands to her breast, and
clenched them there.

"It is his name," she said, and there was something repressed and terrible
in her low voice. "It is his name!"

She was looking straight into the eyes of John Aldous, and he saw that she
was fighting to say something which she had not spoken. Suddenly she came
to him, and her two hands caught hi