When she left at length to return to the Vicarage for the midday meal, her portion was done.
But it was not till night came again that she found time to write the few brief words that she had been revolving in her mind all day long.
"DEAR PIERS,
"I am thinking of you constantly, and longing to help you in your trouble. Let me know if there is anything whatever that I can do, and I shall be ready at any time.
"With love from Avery."
Her face glowed softly over the writing of the note. She slipped out and posted it before she went to bed.
He would get it in the morning, and he would be comforted. For he would understand. She was sure that he would understand.
Of herself all through that second wakeful night she did not think at all, and so no doubts rose to torment her. She lay in a species of tired wonder. She was keeping her promise to the dead man, and in the keeping of it there was peace.
The great square Abbey pew at the top of the church was empty throughout Easter Sunday. A heavy gloom reigned at the Vicarage. Avery and the children were in dire disgrace, and Mrs. Lorimer spent most of the day in tears. She could not agree with the Vicar that they were directly responsible for the Squire's death. Dr. Tudor had been very emphatic in assuring them that what had happened had been the inevitable outcome of a disease of long standing. But this assurance did not in any way modify the Vicar's attitude, and he decided that the five children should spend their time in solitary confinement until after the day fixed for the funeral.
This was to be Easter Tuesday, and he himself had arranged to depart the day after—an event to which the entire household, with the single exception of Olive, looked forward with the greatest eagerness.