tted away, from its
upright supports, and lay on the ground weather-stained and split, but
still faintly showing that it had once had a few letters cut in it. He
examined this board to begin with, and was trying to make out what the
letters were, when the sound of some one approaching disturbed him. He
looked up, and saw a woman walking slowly towards the place where he was
standing.

It was Mrs. Peckover herself! She had taken a prescription for her sick
brother to the chemist's--had bought him one or two little things he
wanted in the High Street--and had now, before resuming her place at his
bedside, stolen a few minutes to go and look at the grave of Madonna's
mother. It was many, many years since Mrs. Peckover had last paid a
visit to Bangbury churchyard.

She stopped and hesitated when she first caught sight of Mat; but, after
a moment or two, not being a woman easily baulked in anything when she
had once undertaken to do it, continued to advance, and never paused
for the second time until she had come close to the grave by which Mat
stood, and was looking him steadily in the face, exactly across it.

He was the first to speak. "Do you know whose grave this is?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," answered Mrs. Peckover, glancing indignantly at the broken
board and the mud and brambles all about it. "Yes, sir, I _do_ know;
and, what's more, I know that it's a disgrace to the parish. Money has
been paid twice over to keep it decent; and look what a state it's left
in!"

"I asked you whose grave it was," repeated Mat, impatiently.

"A poor, unfortunate, forsaken creature's, who's gone to Heaven if ever
an afflicted, repenting woman went there yet!" answered Mrs. Peckover,
warmly.

"Forsaken? Afflicted? A woman, too?" Mat repeated to himself,
thoughtfully.

"Yes, forsaken and afflicted," cried Mrs. Peckover, overhearing him.
"Don't you say no ill of her, whoever you are. She shan't be spoken
unkindly of in my hearing, poor soul!"

Mat looked up suddenly and eagerly. "What's your name?" he inquired.

"My name's Peckover, and I'm not ashamed of it," was the prompt reply.
"And, now, if I may make so bold, what's yours?"

Mat took from his pocket the Hair Bracelet, and, fixing his eyes
intently on her face, held it up, across the grave, for her to look at.
"Do you know this?" he said.

Mrs. Peckover stooped forward, and closely inspected the Bracelet for
a minute or two. "Lord save us!" she exclaimed, recognizing it, a