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Here Lies

The Body of an Unknown Woman

Drowned

In the Wreck of the Schooner Bartlett,

May 9, 1871.

and below it, in larger characters, now almost obliterated by gray-and-yellow stains:

Ora Pro Anima Sua.

This was Margaret’s favorite spot. She preferred its melancholy solitude to the vivacious companionship of the cottage piazza, and its quiet tones to the bizarre hues of the beach pavilion. It lay removed from the usual paths, reached only by a wide detour, across bush-tangled wastes or the long, uncomfortable walk up-shore on the hot, yielding sand. Now she sank upon the seat with a deep sigh of pleasure, letting her book fall open in her lap. Her eyes roved far off across the gray-green heave where a buccaneering fish-hawk slanted craftily.

A deeper light was in them as they fell upon the open printed leaf:

“For Love is fine and tense as silver wire,

Fierce as white lightning, glorious as drums

And beautiful as snow-mountains. Swift she is

As leaping flame and calm as winter stars.”