It grew upon me that the figure was familiar.

Presently I saw who it was, for the face lifted.

I excused myself, went over to her, and said:--"Miss Caron, you are in trouble ?" She looked up, her eyes swimming with tears and pointed to the tombstone.

On it I read: Sacred to the Memory of HECTOR CARON, Ensign in the French Navy.
Erected by his friend, Galt Roscoe, H.B.M.N.
Beneath this was the simple line: "Why, what evil hath he done ?" "He was your brother ?" I asked.
"Yes, monsieur, my one brother." Her tears dropped slowly.
"And Galt Roscoe, who was he ?" asked I.
Through her grief her face was eloquent.

"I never saw him--never knew him," she said.