As the French doctor drew the sheet over the dead girl's face, a ghastly smile, almost of satisfaction, might have been seen on Lucy's countenance. Both girls sobbed bitterly; but let us do Miss Warrender justice, her tears were tears of genuine sorrow, but her grief was tempered with a sort of awful content, that now at least her secret was buried in the solemn silence of the grave.
The next few days were passed in a sort of melancholy bustle; a letter had to be written to break the painful news to the poor old mother at King's Warren. Poor Hephzibah was buried, her two young mistresses following their faithful servant to the grave.
That night Lucy Warrender stole softly into the empty room. With her own hands Miss Warrender carefully went through all the dead girl's little possessions, and she removed every letter and paper to her own room. Then she locked the door and carefully scrutinized everything, but not one scrap of writing did she find which compromised either herself or her cousin in the slightest degree. There were a few notes which had been written to the girl by her mistresses at odd times, and had been carefully treasured by the abigail. There was a little box of carved wood which contained a photograph, the likeness of the faithless Capt. Lucy cast it into the flames, and from the fire, as it turned and twisted like a living thing, the face seemed to glare at her menacingly. There was nothing more save the letter from the vicar's wife. Lucy perused it with a smile, and crushing it into a ball she tossed it into the fire.
Then she returned into the dead girl's room and replaced all that remained. Taking a glance at her sleeping cousin, whom her proceedings had not disturbed, she herself quietly retired to rest.
Next day the girls were busily employed. From a crowd of applicants they had to select a nurse for the little Lucius. Their choice fell upon a handsome Norman peasant woman dressed in the becoming, though peculiar, costume of her race. She wore the tall white cap of filmy cambric, ironed in the elaborate manner with which we are all familiar; she wore too a massy pair of gold ear-rings and a heavy gold cross, which indicated that her people were well-to-do. Fanchette was evidently a paragon of neatness; no spot of dust could be seen on her short dress of French merino, or on the little woollen shawl pinned closely over her shoulders. She spoke no word of English and seemed rather taciturn; the only anxiety she manifested was as to the amount of her remuneration. Her references were undeniable. She was the picture of health, a magnificent animal.
Probably what most recommended her to the critical mind of Miss Warrender was her impassive taciturnity.
Fanchette was installed at once. She expressed her readiness to proceed to England, informing the girls that all countries were the same to her as she had no relatives and her homme was serving in Algeria.
Nothing detained the party further in Paris, and they prepared to start for King's Warren the next day.
A letter from the Parsonage reached them that evening; it was from Mrs. Dodd, the vicar's wife.
"King's Warren Parsonage.
"Dear Miss Warrender,
"On receipt of your letter I hurried over to Goody Wallis's cottage to break to her the sad news of Hephzibah's death. Strange to say it did not take her by surprise; she told me that the girl had been ailing for several years. Of course these things do not affect people of her class to the same extent as educated persons; but it was plain enough that she was much grieved. As you can suppose I did my best to console her. I pointed out to the poor old thing that her daughter had been saved from the degradation of a marriage with a foreign person; strange to say, this appeared to give her no comfort: she did not seem so well disposed as usual to listen to good advice. So I took my leave, lending her a copy of Lawe's 'Serious Call.'
"Your uncle is quite excited at your approaching arrival, and is burning to see the little Lucius. I suppose, my dear, that this very unusual name has been selected out of compliment to you, but my husband says that he is probably called after the celebrated Irish baronet, the head of the O'Trigger family.
"I cannot express to you, my dear, my feelings of horror and indignation when I heard of the awful occurrence at Rome. Between ourselves I should think it would be better for all parties, particularly for his poor ill-used wife, if your brother-in-law remained in America. Personally, I regret to say that I shall never be able to receive him again. I'm sorry to add that my husband does not look upon the matter in the same serious light, but he was always frivolous, even for a clergyman.
"I may tell you that you are both coming back none too soon, for the squire, always a weak-minded man, seems now to be quite under the thumb of Miss Hood. That lady does not hesitate now to give herself airs to which I, for one, will never tamely submit; and I hope your cousin will take steps on her arrival to at once assert her position.
"With love to Georgie and kind regards from the vicar,
"I am, dear Miss Warrender,
"Affectionately yours,
"Cecilia Dodd."