drive, he followed it toward the gate, but before reaching the latter he struck off again through a clearing and climbed a little knoll on the summit of which a small brick-walled enclosure guarded by three huge oaks attracted his attention and aroused his curiosity. But he didn’t open the little iron gate when he reached it. Within the square enclosure were three graves, two close together near at hand, one somewhat removed. From where he leaned across the crumbling wall Winthrop could read the inscriptions on the three simple headstones. The farther grave was that of “John Wayne, born Fairfield, Kentucky, Feb. 1, 1835; fell at Malvern Hill, July 1, 1862; interred in this spot July 28, 1862.”

[138]

The nearer of the two graves which lay together was that, as Winthrop surmised, of Holly’s mother. Behind the headstone[139] a rose-bush had been planted, and this morning one tiny bloom gleamed wanly in the shadow of the wall. “To the Beloved Memory of Margaret Britton, Wife of Lamar Wayne; Sept. 3, 1853–Jan. 1, 1881. Aged 27 years. ‘The balmy zephyrs, silent since her death, Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath.’”

[139]

Winthrop’s gaze turned to the stone beside it.

“Here lies,”—he read—“the Body of Captain Lamar Wayne, C. S. A., who was born in Fairfield, Kentucky, Aug, 4, 1842, and died at Waynewood, Sept. 21, 1892, aged 50 years. ‘Happier for me that all our hours assign’d, Together we had lived; ev’n not in death disjoined.’”

Here, thought Winthrop, was hint of a great love. He compared the dates. Captain Wayne had lived twelve years after his wife’s death. Winthrop wondered if those years had seemed long to him. Probably not, since he had Holly to care for—Holly, whom Winthrop doubted not, was very greatly like her mother. To have the[140] child spared to him! Ah, that was much. Winthrop’s eyes lifted from the quiet space before him and sought the distant skyline as his thoughts went to another grave many hundred miles away. A mocking-bird flew into one of the oaks and sang a few tentative notes, and then was silent. Winthrop roused himself with a sigh and turned back down the knoll toward the house, which stood smiling amidst its greenery a few hundred yards away.

[140]

As he entered the hall he heard Holly in converse with Aunt Venus on the back porch, and as he glanced through the doorway she moved into sight, her form silhouetted against the sunlight glare. But he gave her only a passing 

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