“And it is now believed that some were buried in a state of trance.” “Buried alive?” “Buried alive!” There was a long silence. Brandon’s eyes were fixed on the book. At last he pointed to the name of Edith Brandon. “Then, I suppose,” he said, in a steady voice, which, however, was in a changed key, “these letters ‘B’ and ‘A’ are intended to mean something of that description?” “Something of that sort,” replied the clerk. Brandon drew a long breath. “But there is no certainty about it in this particular case. I will tell you how these marks happened to be made. The clerk that was here last told me. “One morning, according to him, the superintendent came in, looking very much excited and altered. He went to this book, where the entries of burials had been made on the preceding evening. This name was third from the last. Twelve had been buried. He penciled these letters there and left. People did not notice him: every body was sick or busy. At last in the evening of the next day, when they were to bury a new lot, they found the superintendent digging at the grave the third from the last. They tried to stop him, but he shouted and moaned alternately ‘Buried alive!’ ‘Buried alive!’ In fact they saw that he was crazy, and had to confine him at once.” “Did they examine the grave?” “Yes. The woman told my predecessor that she and her husband--who did the burying--had examined it, and found the body not only dead, but corrupt. So there’s no doubt of it. That party must have been dead at any rate.” “Who was the woman?” “An old woman that laid them out. She and her husband buried them.” “Where is she now?” “I don’t know.” “Does she stay here yet?” “No. She left last year.” “What became of the superintendent?” “He was taken home, but grew no better. At last he had to be sent to an asylum. Some examination was made by the authorities, but nothing ever came of it. The papers made no mention of the affair, and it was hushed up.” Brandon read on. At last he came to another name. It was simply this: “_Brandon_.” There was a slight movement on the clerk’s part as Brandon came to this name. “There is no Christian name here,” said Brandon. “I suppose they did not know it.” “Well,” said the clerk, “there’s something peculiar about that. The former clerk never mentioned it to any body but me. That man didn’t die at all.” “What do you mean?” said Brandon, who could scarcely speak for the tremendous struggle between hope and despair that was going on within him. “It’s a false entry.” “How?” “The superintendent wrote that. See, the handwriting is different from the others. One is that of the clerk who made all these entries; the other is the superintendent’s.” Brandon looked and saw that this was the case. “What was the cause of that?”