“No wonder that you are surprised to see me, my dear,” she said, as Hilda greeted her cordially. “I am on my way to your house to pass the night with you, if agreeable to you to entertain me at this time. The postmaster at Dorton pointed out ‘My Lady’s Manor,’ but I took a circuit from the direct way in order to visit this churchyard.”
“Nothing would give us greater pleasure than to have you with us, Mrs. De Cormis. Shall we walk, or would you prefer that I send Chloe to have the carriage come for us?”
“I prefer walking this lovely evening, and we can converse on our way. I came from Philadelphia this morning, and stopped off in Baltimore in order to see Horace Flint, the brother of Jerusha Flint. He had forwarded letters to our address which was the reason for my coming. My dear, do you know that Jerusha was my husband’s niece, the daughter of his only sister?”
“His niece!” echoed Hilda, halting to look into the face of Mrs. De Cormis; “his sister’s daughter! Then she was first cousin to Lura Warfield, wife of Cousin Paul.”
“Yes, her own cousin; Lura’s father and Jerusha’s mother were brother and sister.”
“Lura Warfield has no knowledge of it, I am sure. I have every reason to know that she never heard of Jerusha Flint until she became acquainted with me,” commented Hilda.
“No, I am sure of it. My husband never heard of Jerusha until we received the letter from her brother—Horace De Cormis Flint—which Jerusha requested should be forwarded to her grandfather. The letter proved itself, having been written by Jerusha’s mother—my sister-in-law, long since dead; and enclosed in it was my father-in-law’s reply.”
“But I cannot understand it,” exclaimed Hilda in bewilderment. “Jerusha died several years ago. Why were not her mother’s and her grandfather’s letters forwarded at that time to your husband, Mr. Robert De Cormis, instead of waiting until now?”
“Horace Flint gave the excuse that as he and his sister Jerusha had lived until past middle age without any acquaintance with their mother’s relatives he should never have made himself known were it not for the request of Jerusha.”
“I never saw Horace Flint,” remarked Hilda. “He may never have lived in this neighborhood, or if so, must have left it before my remembrance.”