one place to which she must go. It might be empty and
desolate, but there her son had died, and she had seen the roof of his
dwelling from the graveyard when they let her come out from prison to
see him buried.

She knew the road, for her path led to the grave first, and after that
she could find the way, for every step, so far, had been marked by a
pang, to which her heart was answering back now.

At sunset, that day, some workmen, passing the village burying-place,
saw an old woman sitting by a grave that had been almost forgotten in
the neighborhood.

She was looking dreary and forlorn in the damp enclosure, for clouds
were drifting low in the sky, and a cold rain was beginning to fall; but
they did not know that this poor woman had a home-feeling by that grave,
even with the rain falling, which belonged to no other place on earth.

A little later, when the gray darkness was creeping on, this same tall
figure might have been discovered moving through the rough cedar pillars
of the Yates cottage. There was no light in the house, for no human soul
lived beneath its roof; but a door was so lightly fastened that she got
it open with some effort, and entered what seemed to her like the
kitchen; for the last tenant had left some kindling-wood in the
fireplace, and two or three worn-out cooking utensils stood near the
hearth, where they were beginning to rust.

When she left the prison, the matron had, with many kind words, thrust a
parcel into the old woman's hand. Knowing her helplessness, she had
provided food for a meal or two, and to this had added some matches and
candles.

In the gray light which came through one of the windows, she untied this
parcel and found the candles. It seemed to the forlorn creature as if a
merciful God had sent them directly to her, and she fell upon her
knees, thanking Him. The light which she struck gave her the first gleam
of hope that her freedom had yet brought. She was at liberty to build a
fire on that dark hearth, and to sit there just as long as she pleased,
enjoying its warmth. The rain that began to rattle down on the low roof
made her shelter more pleasant. She began to realize that even in such
desolation liberty was sweet.

She built a fire with the dry wood, and its blaze soon filled the
kitchen with a golden glow. Her garments were wet, and a soft steam
arose from them as she sat, enveloping her in a gray cloud. The
loneliness might have been terrible to another perso