“My father,” she answered quietly. “He was organist here, and he died last week.”
“And you have no other relatives?” he asked.
“None at all. No one—seems—quite to know—what is going to become of me!” she sobbed.
“Where are you staying now?” he inquired.
“With an old woman who used to look after our cottage,” she answered. “But she is very poor, and she cannot keep me any longer. Mrs. Colson says that I must go and work, and I am afraid. I don’t know anyone except at Tredowen! And I don’t know how to work! And I don’t want to go away from the pictures, and the garden, and the sea! It is all so beautiful, isn’t it? Don’t you love Tredowen?”
“Well, I haven’t been here very long, you see,” Aynesworth explained.
Wingrave spoke for the first time. His eyes were fixed upon the child, and Aynesworth could see that she shrank from his cold, unsympathetic scrutiny.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Juliet Lundy,” she answered.
“How long was your father organist at the church?”