David walked down an avenue of the dead toward the little mound that covered the young actress. He was perhaps twenty yards from it when he heard and almost stopped at the sound of a sob not far away. He looked on this hand and on that, but could see no one. The place, with its silent populace, was more lonesome than the prairie; and a new sense had been steadily growing up in him since half-past eleven of the previous night--the sense of the "other world," of its possible reality and nearness. There was an odor here, strong enough to his keen nostrils, of flowers, especially of violets, and of the last end of mortal man, a blend of sweet and abhorrent which was to infect his mind for many a day. However, he did not hesitate, but, with slower steps, that made hardly a sound, turned a corner of the path, cleared a clump of trees which had blocked his view, and now saw the grave of Gwendoline, the cross, the chaplet of fresh violets at the foot of the cross, and over the cross a woman weeping. Weeping bitterly, her face in her hands, she was standing, but her body was bent in grief, and she was all shaken with it, though little sound escaped that lonely passion of pity and heartbreak. Harcourt at once felt that he had invaded holy ground. He gave himself time to notice only that she was tall, cloaked wholly in black--and he turned, or half-turned, to retire. But in his haste and embarrassment he let his stick fall from his hand; whereat the young woman started, and they looked at each other. In an instant Harcourt understood that she was the sister of her whose portrait stood on his mantelpiece; and he felt that he had never seen woman so lovely and gentle. CHAPTER III VIOLET She looked at Harcourt with wide eyes, seeming frightened, in suspense, and ready to fly, because he did not know how his eyes devoured her. "I am sorry--" he began, retiring a step. "What do you want of me?" she asked, staring fixedly at him. "Nothing," he said. "Don't be alarmed; I am merely here by chance." "But why have you followed me?" "No, I have not followed you, I assure you of that. I did not know that you were here, even. I beg you not to be alarmed--" "Why, then, are you here?" she persisted. "This is a public cemetery, you know. I came to see a grave, just as you have--" "This grave?" "How can you possibly guess that," he asked, "since you have never before seen me, and do not know who I am?" "You stopped here, did you not?" she asked. "You stopped, and looked strangely at me." "Certainly I looked at you," admitted Harcourt. "I did not realize that I looked 'strangely.' However, let me be frank. I did come to see your sister's grave." "My sister!" said she, shrinking, as from the touch of a wound, "how do you know? what interest can you have strong enough to bring you?"