"What, with that voice and that face?" muttered the old man, dubiously. He peered fearfully at Flower, and muttered, "If 'tain't her ghost, they're as like as two peas! Well, ma'am, and what is't you're wanting to know?" "To find Daisy Forrest's grave," said the low, sad voice, with a pitiful tremor in its sweetness; and with that the old man took up his spade and struck it down into the open grave. "This is where we buried her nigh onto eighteen years ago," he said, peering curiously into her startled face, as she cried out in horror: "Why do you thus desecrate her grave, man?" The sound of her indignant voice reached the veiled woman. She started as from a deep trance, and came hastily forward toward the little group that had collected about the grave. Throwing back her thick veil, she exclaimed, harshly: "What is all this excitement, old man? I commanded you to perform this work quietly and in silence." Flower drew back with a startled cry. It was Mrs. Fielding. The old sexton had leaped into the grave. There was a sound as of the tearing of rotten planks. A minute's silence, then he looked up at the imperious woman, whose eyes burned like fire under her dark brows and snowy-white hair. "The Lord has put your foolish vengeance out of your power, ma'am," he said, with stern awe. "There ain't nothin' here but a little heap o' ashes. I told you so; I told you that poor, wronged woman was dust and ashes along o' your little babby. But you wouldn't listen. Look, now, for yourself." She moved forward, as did all the group, except the frightened, shrinking Flower, and when she saw, down there in the darkness of the grave, the commingling ashes of her dead rival and her dead child she uttered a tigerish cry of rage and hate, and fell in a swoon upon the green turf. At that sight Flower forgot everything, except that the unconscious woman had given her for seventeen years a mother's love and received from her a child's affection. She ran to Mrs. Fielding's side, knelt by her, loosened her dress at the throat, and tore off the heavy veil to give her air. "Come, sexton, what is all this? Why did you open Daisy Forrest's grave?" a stern voice demanded of the sexton, who was already hastening to replace the earth upon the violated grave. The old man looked up, and saw a tall man of about fifty, stoutly built, plainly dressed, and wearing gray whiskers of an English cut. There was a gleam of stern displeasure in his eyes, and the sexton answered, sulkily: "I don't know as it's any of your business, stranger; the lady had a permit from the authorities to open this grave." CHAPTER XXVII. But other voices besides those of the English-looking stranger clamored loudly for reasons, so the old sexton, with a sulky glance at his interlocutor, proceeded to explain to his friends and neighbors, giving in substance the story with which we are already familiar. When he had finished his voluble story he drew a long breath, and added: