t morning train on what was
termed the Trunk Line. By this main railroad he reached his destination
early in the forenoon, and went at once to Dawson's Buildings.

"Mrs. Peckover has just stepped out, sir--Mr. Randle being a little
better this morning--for a mouthful of fresh air. She'll be in again in
half-an-hour," said the maid-of-all-work who opened Mr. Randle's door.

Mat began to suspect that something more than mere accident was
concerned in keeping Mrs. Peckover and himself asunder. "I'll come again
in half-an-hour," he said--then added, just as the servant was about to
shut the door:--"Which is my way to the church?"

Bangbury church was close at hand, and the directions he received for
finding it were easy to follow. But when he entered the churchyard, and
looked about him anxiously to see where he should begin searching for
his sister's grave, his head grew confused, and his heart began to fail
him. Bangbury was a large town, and rows and rows of tombstones seemed
to fill the churchyard bewilderingly in every visible direction.

At a little distance a man was at work opening a grave, and to him
Mat applied for help; describing his sister as a stranger who had been
buried somewhere in the churchyard better than twenty years ago. The man
was both stupid and surly, and would give no advice, except that it was
useless to look near where he was digging, for they were all respectable
townspeople buried about there.

Mat walked round to the other side of the church. Here the graves were
thicker than ever; for here the poor were buried. He went on slowly
through them, with his eyes fixed on the ground, towards some trees
which marked the limits of the churchyard; looking out for a place to
begin his search in, where the graves might be comparatively few, and
where his head might not get confused at the outset. Such a place he
found at last, in a damp corner under the trees. About this spot the
thin grass languished; the mud distilled into tiny water-pools; and the
brambles, briars, and dead leaves lay thickly and foully between a few
ragged turf-mounds. Could they have laid her here? Could this be the
last refuge to which Mary ran after she fled from home?

A few of the mounds had stained moldering tomb-stones at their heads.
He looked at these first; and finding only strange names on them, turned
next to the mounds marked out by cross-boards of wood. At one of the
graves the cross-board had been torn, or had ro