It was a simple, and somewhat dreary place, which they reached at last. There were no cared-for flowers blossoming there, and the grass grew uncut around the nameless graves.
The old man with his spade had just finished his work. The last shovel-full of earth was thrown out when the hearse and carriage stopped at the gate, and the men bore the coffin slowly in, followed by Margaret and Dawn.
The angels must have wept had they seen the grief-prostrated form beside that grave, when the sound of the earth, as it fell on the coffin, came to the ear of the desolate-hearted Margaret.
Moan after moan broke forth, as they bore, rather than led her away to the carriage.
Homeless and friendless; where would the morrow find her? God tempered the wind to the shorn lamb, and sent his ministering angel in his own good time. Dawn had decided, on the way to the grave, to take her home, and gave the hackman directions to drive to the station.
The rain drops began to patter on the pavement, the air grew chill and heavy, adding to the gloom of the occasion, and it was a relief to both to step into the cars, and see faces lighted up by hopes, going to life's experiences, rather than floating away from them.
There was no action in the dumb soul, which sat beside Dawn. She had passed beyond question and agitation of thought. It was that simple quiescence which every soul feels when the curtain of sorrow has fallen, even amid scenes of hope and happiness; but to one whom hope had long since forsaken, and life's bitter experiences been often repeated, there could be no projection of self, nought but the Now, divested of all earthly interest.
The train rushed past hills, through valleys, fields and woods, like a thing of life and intelligence, and stopped at the station, where a carriage was waiting. Mechanically Margaret followed, and Martin, at Dawn's gesture, lifted her into the carriage. The smoke of the receding train rose and curled among the trees, assuming fantastic shapes, while the shrill whistle caused the cattle to race over the fields, and the lithe-winged warblers to recede into the forests. Just so does some great din of the world, falling on our ears, send us to our being's centre for rest.