"You can help me," said Iris, who was irresistibly drawn to the strong, efficient personality, "but I fear I can't help you. Though I am more than willing."
"It is a pleasure just to look at you, my dear, you are so sweet and unspoiled."
Bannard gave Miss Darrel a quick glance. Her speech, to him, savored of sycophancy.
But not to Iris. She slipped her hand into that of her new friend, and gave her a smile of glad affection.
Luncheon was announced and after that came the solemn observances of the funeral.
As Miss Darrel had said, the three were the only relatives present. Ursula Pell had other kin, but none were nearby enough to attend the funeral. Of casual friends there were plenty, and of neighbors and villagers enough to fill the house, and more too.
Iris heard nothing of the services. Entirely unnerved, she lay on the bed in her own room, and sobbed, almost hysterically.
Agnes brought sal volatile and aromatic ammonia, but the sight of the maid roused Iris' excitement to a higher pitch, and finally Miss Darrel took complete charge of the nervous girl.
"I'm ashamed of myself," Iris said, when at last she grew calmer, "but I can't help it. There's a curse on the house—on the place—on the family! Miss Darrel, save me—save me from what is about to befall!"
"Yes, dear, yes; rest quietly, no harm shall come to you. The shock has completely upset you. You've borne up so bravely, and now the reaction has come and you're feverish and ill. Take this, my child, and try to rest quietly."