She pointed to a large basket and asked me again to take it up and follow her. I soon knew where we were going. The vaguely familiar scene grew more and more distinct as I trudged silently at her back. I knew instinctively that we were passing through the same wood where I had wandered in my trance, where I had met her when she gave me the miniature of my dead sister. We were going to my sister’s grave. Yes, I knew the place instantly. I saw her lift the piece of loose sod which covered the stone marked with Ruth’s name. Mistress Miriam sat on the grass by the side of the grave, binding the flowers into wreaths and bunches which she laid about. When she placed the last she knelt and clasped her hands in prayer. Her lips murmured and the tears followed one another down her cheeks and fell among the flowers. I turned away, a great pain in my heart. Here was I by my sister’s grave, yet I could not throw myself upon it and weep out my sorrow. Her only mourner was a Roman Catholic. O God, it is not for me to question the mystery of Thy ways! Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. On our way home I found it necessary to exert my full power of self-control lest I betray my secret. “You are affected,” she said. “It shows that you have a warm heart.” “Will you tell me more about her?” I asked. Mistress Van Volkenberg related how Ruth had come to New York, and how she had suffered longing and sorrowful suspense for the brother who did not come to her. Then she took service. The young mistress of the manor-house fell in love with Ruth, as everyone did who knew her. Even the hard patroon at times seemed to feel her sweetness. “But he should be forgiven. My father has strange seizures. He is good to me when his infirmity is not upon him.” She stopped suddenly. “I ought not to be talking like this to you who are a stranger.” I did not feel that we were strangers, but I could not tell her so. On the way back to the manor-house a chance word recalled to me her innocence of her father’s crimes. I followed this clew and directed the conversation towards a revelation of herself. Mistress Van Volkenberg was a woman of high spirit. Had I not seen her stand out against her angry parent in defense of Ruth? Yet she was gentle withal. In our conversation, she showed no bitterness against her father, who had so little claim to the honor which she bore him. He must have been dull indeed not to see his daughter’s worth; yet I wondered how she could be so blind to his defects. She soon told me more of his dealings with her.