The sad ceremony ended, she looked to him and he led the way to where old Isham waited with the carriage. He sent him around toward Gerald's grave, under a wide-spreading live oak, while they went afoot by the direct way impassable for vehicles. They reached the parapet and would have crossed it, when they saw kneeling at the head of the grave a woman dressed in black, seemingly engaged in prayer. Edward had caused to be placed above the remains a simple marble slab, which bore the brief inscription: GERALD MORGAN. Died 1888. They watched until the woman arose and laid a wreath upon the slab. When at last she turned her face and surveyed the scene they saw before them, pale and grief-stricken, Cambia. Edward felt the scene whirling about him and his tongue paralyzed. Cambia, at sight of them gave way again to a grief that had left her pale and haggard, and could only extend the free hand, while with the other she sought to conceal her face. Edward came near, his voice scarcely audible. "Cambia!" he exclaimed in wonder; "Cambia!" she nodded her head. "Yes, wretched, unhappy Cambia!" "Then, madame," he said, with deep emotion, pointing to the grave and touching her arm, "what was he to you?" She looked him fairly in the face from streaming eyes. "He was my son! It cannot harm him now. Alas, poor Cambia!" "Your son!" The man gazed about him bewildered. "Your son, madame? You are mistaken! It cannot be!" "Ah!" she exclaimed; "how little you know. It can be--it is true!" "It cannot be; it cannot be!" the words of the horrified man were now a whisper. "Do you think a mother does not know her offspring? Your talk is idle; Gerald Morgan was my son. I have known, John Morgan knew----" "But Rita," he said, piteously. "Ah, Rita, poor Rita, she could not know!" The manner, the words, the tone overwhelmed him. He turned to Mary for help in his despair. Almost without sound she had sunk to the grass and now lay extended at full length. With a fierce exclamation Edward rushed to her and lifted the little figure in his arms. Cambia was at his side. "What is this? What was she to him?" some explanation was necessary and Edward's presence of mind returned. "He loved her," he said. The face of Cambia grew soft and tender and she spread her wrap on the rustic bench. "Place her here and bring water. Daughter," she exclaimed, kneeling by her side, "come, come, this will never do--" The girl's eyes opened and for a moment rested in wonder upon Cambia. Then she remembered. A strange expression settled upon her face as she gazed quickly upon Edward. "Take me home, madame," she said; "take me home. I am deathly ill."