It seemed terrible to poor Flower to leave her little one to be
consigned to an unknown grave by this humble friend; but Poky's good
counsel prevailed at last, and with one last kiss on the lovely little
face, she stole away in the rough disguise Poky had provided for her,
and began her battle with the cold world.
Poky had generously bestowed on her a little money, and with this she
made her way to the little Southern town where she had been born,
determined to learn something of her mother's history, and also
believing that she might make an humble living here better than among
the human wolves of a great city.
First of all, she sought humble lodgings at a little third-class hotel,
and here she soon learned the location of the cemetery, and set out to
visit the graves of her father and mother.
She had no difficulty in finding the handsome inclosure wherein all
of the dead and gone Fieldings were interred. It was the pride of the
cemetery, just as the Fieldings had been the pride of the town ere
their last descendant, handsome, erring, wretched Charley Fielding had
flung himself madly into a suicide's awful grave.
Flower sat down among the cold marble monuments, trailing vines, and
sweet tea-roses, and fixed her eyes on the small, unpretentious stone
that recorded the death of her wretched young father.
Out of her abundant wealth his widow had spared but little for his
grave-stone. Her resentment had been too strong and enduring, and
followed him beyond the grave.
Crushed and despairing, the unhappy girl sat among the graves of her
ancestors, with her golden head bowed low as she reflected that the
bond that united them was one of bitter shame and woe.
It was too hard to linger there long, bowed down with shame and sorrow.
She moved away presently to seek the place where her erring mother had
been laid to rest, and so came upon the old sexton busily digging a
grave. There were a few loiterers about, and a veiled lady sat in the
shadow of a weeping willow near by, but Flower noticed no one. She went
toward the old man, and asked, timidly:
"Will you tell me where to find the grave of Daisy Forrest?"
The old man looked up, their eyes met, he staggered back, and dropped
his spade, uttering a cry of terror:
"Good Lord deliver me!"
The veiled lady, under the drooping branches of the willow, did not
seem to notice, but some of the people who were walking about the paths
came closer, curious to know what had happened to the old sexton.
He was staring at Flower with frightened eyes, as if she had been a
ghost.
"My good man, I did not mean to startle you," Flower said, in her low
voice, that sounded like saddest music. "I am looking for my mother's
grave."
"Oh, my good Lord! this is surely her ghost!" gasped the sexton,
retreating still further. "Oh, I told Mrs. Fielding it was a sin to do
this, but she would not listen, she would have her way! It was a shame
for me to obey her. And now I'm punished, for Daisy Forrest has come
from her grave to look at me and reproach me!"
Some one touched his arm.
"Old man, you're daft. It's a living woman speaking to you."
"What, with that voice and that face?" muttered the old man, dubiously.
He peered fearfully at Flower, and muttered, "If 'tain't her ghost,
they're as like as two peas! Well, ma'am, and what is't you're wanting
to know?"
"To find Daisy Forrest's grave," said the low, sad voice, with a
pitiful tremor in its sweetness; and with that the old man took up his
spade and struck it down into the open grave.
"This is where we buried her nigh onto eighteen years ago," he said,
peering curiously into her startled face, as she cried out in horror:
"Why do you thus desecrate her grave, man?"
The sound of her indignant voice reached the veiled woman. She started
as from a deep trance, and came hastily forward toward the little group
that had collected about the grave.
Throwing back her thick veil, she exclaimed, harshly:
"What is all this excitement, old man? I commanded you to perform this
work quietly and in silence."
Flower drew back with a startled cry. It was Mrs. Fielding.
The old sexton had leaped into the grave. There was a sound as of the
tearing of rotten planks. A minute's silence, then he looked up at the
imperious woman, whose eyes burned like fire under her dark brows and
snowy-white hair.
"The Lord has put your foolish vengeance out of your power, ma'am," he
said, with stern awe. "There ain't nothin' here but a little heap o'
ashes. I told you so; I told you that poor, wronged woman was dust and
ashes along o' your little babby. But you wouldn't listen. Look, now,
for yourself."
She moved forward, as did all the group, except the frightened,
shrinking Flower, and when she saw, down there in the darkness of the
grave, the commingling ashes of her dead rival and her dead child she
uttered a tigerish cry of rage and hate, and fell in a swoon upon the
green turf.
At that sight Flower forgot everything, except that the unconscious
woman had given her for seventeen years a mother's love and received
from her a child's affection. She ran to Mrs. Fielding's side, knelt by
her, loosened her dress at the throat, and tore off the heavy veil to
give her air.
"Come, sexton, what is all this? Why did you open Daisy Forrest's
grave?" a stern voice demanded of the sexton, who was already hastening
to replace the earth upon the violated grave.
The old man looked up, and saw a tall man of about fifty, stoutly
built, plainly dressed, and wearing gray whiskers of an English cut.
There was a gleam of stern displeasure in his eyes, and the sexton
answered, sulkily:
"I don't know as it's any of your business, stranger; the lady had a
permit from the authorities to open this grave."