It was the cemetery road, and odd as the fancy was, he felt that he should overtake her at the old gate, behind which lay so many of her name.  Here he had seen her name before its erasement from the family monument, and here he should see—­could he say Anitra if he found her bending over those graves; the woman who could not hear, who could not read,—­whose childish memory, if she had any in connection with this spot, could not be distinct enough or sufficiently intelligent to guide her to this one plot?  No.  Human credulity can go far, but not so far as that.  He knew that all his old doubts would return if, on entering the cemetery, he found her under the brown shaft carved with the name of Hazen.

The test was one he had not sought and did not welcome.  Yet he felt bound, now that he recognized it as such, to see it through and accept its teaching for what it surely would be worth.  Only he began to move with more precaution and studied more to hide his approach than to give any warning of it.

The close ranks of the elderberry bushes lining the fences on the final hill-top lent themselves to the concealment he now sought.  As soon as he was sure of her having left the road he drew up close to these bushes and walked under them till he was almost at the gate.  Then he allowed himself to peer through their close branches and received an unexpected shock at seeing her figure standing very near him, posed in an uncertainty which, for some reason, he had not expected, but which restored him to himself, though why he had not the courage, the time, nor the inclination to ask.

She was babbling in a low tone to herself, an open sesame to her mind, which Ransom hailed with a sense of awe.  If only he might distinguish the words!  But this was difficult; not only was her head turned partly away, but she spoke in a murmur which was far from distinct.  Yet—­yes, that one sentence was plain enough.  She had muttered musingly, anxiously, and with a searching look among the graves: 

“It was on this side.  I know it was on this side.”

Watching her closely lest some chance glance of hers should stray his way, he listened still more intently and was presently rewarded by catching another sentence.

“A single grave all by itself.  I fell over it and my mother scolded me, saying it was my father’s.  There was a bush near it.  A bush with white flowers on it.  I tried to pick some.”

Ransom’s heart was growing lighter and lighter.  She did not even know that there had been placed over that grave a monument with her name on it and that of the mother who had scolded her for tripping over her father’s sod.  Only Anitra could be so ignorant or expect to find a grave by means of a bush blooming with flowers fifteen years ago.  As she went wandering on, peering to right and left, he thought of Hazen and his doubts, and wished that he were here beside him to mark her perplexity.