“She had found it in a little inclosure on the island which held Chateau d’Or choked with tall grass and weeds, and smothered by the drooping branches of the pine and willow which overshadowed it and hid from view the plain white stone on which was simply inscribed, ‘Agatha, aged 20.’ Nothing to tell when she died, or where, or where her home had been, and what her life. But Anna knew now all the sad story of the sweet peasant-girl lured from her home by promises of a marriage, which did take place at last, but with a flaw in it which made it illegal, and poor Agatha no wife. Then, when reparation had been refused, she had held herself as pure and spotless as was Eve when she came first from the hands of her Creator, but had gone mad with shame and remorse, and died at Chateau d’Or, with a song of Normandy on her lips. “With the help of Celine, the weeds and grass were cleared away from the neglected yard, which, as the summer advanced, grew bright with flowers and vines, and was Anna’s favorite resort. Here she would sit for hours with her head bent down, thinking sadly of the past, and wondering what the future, which many a young wife would have looked forward to eagerly, might have in store for her. When first there dawned upon her the possibility that another life than her own might be intrusted to her keeping she had recoiled with horror, feeling that she could not love the child of which Ernest Haverleigh was father; then there crept over her a better, softer feeling, which was succeeded by a presentiment which grew to a certainty that both would die, mother and little one, and be buried by Agatha; there was just room between her grave and the fence, room in length and breadth both, for she had lain herself down in the grass and measured the space with her own person. She would have a headstone, too, like Agatha, with ‘Anna, aged 19’ on it, and in the other world, far away from Chateau d’Or, she might perhaps meet Agatha some day, and with her recount the sorrows they had borne, and which had helped to fit them for the eternal home, where Anna hoped now and believed she would go. Sorrow had brought her to her Saviour’s feet, and she felt that whether she lived or died it would be well with her.