There was a tremor in her voice, and she seemed much excited, which surprised the girls, who fancied she would not care even if Patsy died.  Mrs. Thornfield’s was soon reached, the message given, and then they hurried back.

“Is Patsy worse?” asked Mary, as she saw the bedroom door open, and two or three women standing near the bed.

Miss Grundy did not answer, and when next her face was visible, the girls saw that her eyes were red, as if she had been weeping.

“Funny, isn’t it?” said Jenny, as she started for home.  “I didn’t suppose any thing would make her cry, and I guess now the tears are sort of sour!”

Dr. Gilbert came, but his skill could not save the poor idiot girl, and at about four that afternoon she died.  Around the bed of death there were no tears or lamentations, for those who stood by and watched the lamp of life as it went out, felt that the spirit which was leaving them would be happier far in another world, for never in this had a ray of reason shone upon poor Patsy’s darkened mind.  We have said there were no tears, and yet, although the waters came not to the surface, there was one heart which wept, as with unflinching nerve the cold, stern woman arrayed the dead girl for the grave.

That night Mary was aroused from sleep, by some one whispering her name in her ear, and starting up, she saw Sally bending over her.

“Come with me,” said she softly, “and I’ll show you the queerest sight you ever saw.”

Trembling in every joint, Mary arose and followed Sal, who led her towards the room where Patsy lay.  As she drew near the door they paused, and by the light of the autumn moon, which streamed through the curtained window Mary saw Miss Grundy kneeling by the cold body, and sobbing bitterly.  Once she spoke, and Mary caught the words, “My child, my poor child.”

Wonderingly she looked up to Sally for an explanation; but the crazy woman only replied, as they returned to their rooms, “Yes,—­there’s been queer doings some time or other, it’s very evident; but I know one thing, I’ll never draw her profile again, and I’ll call her Mrs. Grundy after this!”

It was hardly worth while, as the neighbors thought, to be at all the trouble and expense of carrying a foolish girl without friends or relatives to the graveyard, so they buried her beneath the shadow of a wide-spreading maple, in a little inclosure where several other unfortunate ones lay sleeping At the funeral many wondered at the ghastly whiteness of Miss Grundy’s face, and why she grasped at the coffin lid, as if to keep from falling, when with others she gazed upon the pale face which, in its dreamless slumber, looked calm and placid as that of a child.

There were but few who knew of Miss Grundy’s sin, and her secret was buried in Patsy’s grave, where often a mother’s form was bending and a mother’s tears were shed, when the world was dark and still, and there was no eye to see, save that of Him who said, “Go and sin no more.”