Even then I could not believe it, and I would have them try again and again to revive her, but soon the deathly chill of the hand and brow and the white lips convinced even me, and I suffered my lady to lead me away.
They were all very kind. My lady took me to her dressing-room, and strove to win me to tears, for I was at first like one stunned. At last Theo's tearful caresses opened the flood-gates, and I wept myself into quietness. My lady left me to myself as much as was good for me, and no more.
Mr. Penrose, the rector, came and prayed with me, and as I was able to bear it, he talked with me in a gentle and consoling way, which did me all the good in the world. He was a dry-looking, quiet elderly man, a native of Cornwall, and had remained in his parish through all the troubles and changes of the civil wars. My lord was greatly attached to him, though he thought him needlessly strict in some matters. He was a fine scholar, and the best preacher I had heard since I left France.
My mother was buried in the churchyard of the old priory church among our ancestors for many generations. It was a lovely place, all green and fair with grass and great trees, and luxuriant ivy mantling the old ruins. Oh, how I wept as I thought of my father's dishonored grave. How I wished they could have slept together! But it was an idle wish. What signifies what distance divides our worn-out bodies, if only our better part—our real selves—are resting together in the Paradise of God?
Of course word was sent to the friends at Tre Madoc, and I received a most kind letter from my aunt, asking me to make her house my home. The invitation was warmly seconded by the girls, but my lord and lady would have me stay with them for the present, and indeed it was my own desire. I did not feel that I could return to Tre Madoc where all was so changed, nor, knowing my aunt as I did, could I wish to reside in her family, specially as matters were so altered between Andrew and me. I wrote as kindly as I could, specially recommending to my aunt's care our old friends Jeanne and Simon. One good reason is as good as a hundred, and I gave no other for remaining where I was than the wish of my guardian.
I spent the autumn and winter quietly enough at Stanton Court. At first, of course, I kept myself quite in retirement, but by degrees I began once more to mix with the rest of the family, and to take my share in what was going on. My aunt would have me take music lessons of a gentleman in Biddeford, who came to our house every week for that purpose, and at last took up his residence there altogether. He improved me very much in music, both singing and playing, and I also learned some arithmetic of him, especially such as relates to the keeping of accounts—a knowledge I have since found very useful.
There was a school at Stanton Court, known as Lady Rosamond's school, which had been endowed by some former Lady Stanton out of the revenues of the suppressed priory. This school had been closed for some time, and the house had fallen into disrepair, but Mr. Penrose was very desirous of having it opened again, and he had at last persuaded my lord to put the house in order and to settle a school-mistress once more. This last was more easily said than done, since no one could be found who came up to Mr. Penrose's ideas of what was desirable. At last I was the means of supplying the need, though at a considerable sacrifice to myself. My lady was one day admiring some work of Dinah's, and saying what a treasure she was.
"Oh, my lady, why would she not make a good mistress for the new school?" I exclaimed, struck with a sudden thought.
My lady looked surprised, but by no means displeased.
"I believe that is a bright thought," said she. "But hath Dinah the needful knowledge?"