The shawl fell from her shoulders.

Her mother looked back, and saw the white figure.
"God's angel! God's angel, come to destroy me! as he came to Balaam!" and in the madness of her guilty fancy she saw in Grace's hand the fiery sword which was to smite her.
Another step, looking backward still, and she had tripped over a stone.
She fell, and striking the back of her head against the rock, lay senseless.
Tenderly Grace lifted her up: went for water to a pool near by; bathed her face, calling on her by every term of endearment.

Slowly the old woman recovered her consciousness, but showed it only in moans.

Her head was cut and bleeding.

Grace bound it up, and then taking that fatal belt, bound it next to her own heart, never to be moved from thence till she should put it into the hands of him to whom it belonged.
And then she lifted up her mother.
"Come home, darling mother;" and she tried to make her stand and walk.
The old woman only moaned, and waved her away impatiently.