"Who came?" I inquired.
"How do I know, child! You ask too many questions. It was an elderly serving man with a scar on his face."
"Joseph Saunders," I said. "Do you know if my aunt and cousins were well?"
"Yes, they are all well. I asked because I thought you would like to know."
"Dear mother, you are very kind."
"Well, I mean to be kind, and so I am going to talk plainly to you, child. You must give up all notion of going back to your uncle's house, for that will never be. My Lady Peckham has given you to this house—she having absolute control of you since Sir Edward's death—"
"Is Sir Edward dead?" I asked, in dismay.
"Yes, he died in Scotland. There, don't cry, my dear; I thought you knew it, or I would not have told you so suddenly. I know it is natural for you to grieve for him, but we must curb even natural affections when they stand in the way of our duty."
But I could not help crying. Sir Edward had been uniformly kind to me, and I loved him dearly. The news of his death was a dreadful shock, and the end of it was, that I had another ague and was sick for several days.
When I got able to be about again, I was sent for to the prioress's parlor. I had hitherto seen this lady, only at an awful distance, and, so far as I know, she had never spoken to me. She was a very great lady being some way, I know not how, akin to Bishop Gardner.