I was at the funeral and saw Abelard in his coffin, and thought how dreadful it was to die so far from home and have no tears shed for me, for there were none shed for him. Everybody looked sorry, and sober, and shocked, Colonel Schuyler particularly so, and Lady Emily put her fine cambric handkerchief to her eyes when the rector spoke of the noble deed which never could be forgotten by those for whom it was done; but she did not cry, I know, for I was watching her, and I wanted to shake little Godfrey, who, though he was very subdued and quiet, actually nodded in his high chair before the remarks were over.
It was a sad funeral and a big funeral, but one void of genuine heartache, save as one young heart upstairs was breaking, and of this I did not then know.
Although more than two years the junior of Heloise, I perhaps knew her better than any one else. Intimate friends she had not, but between her and myself an acquaintance had sprung up, born of our common love for flowers and rambles by the river side. We had exchanged slips of roses and geraniums, and talked over the gate of our flower-beds, and once, when caught in a rain-storm, she had taken tea with us and delighted us all with her pretty, ladylike manners and soft, gentle speech. I was charmed with her, and having, as I believed, a secret of hers in my possession, I felt greatly interested in her, and when at the funeral I missed her and heard of the sick headache which was keeping her upstairs, I had my own private opinion with regard to the cause of that headache, and with all the curiosity of a girl of thirteen, determined upon seeing her and judging for myself how a girl looked who had lost her lover. Accordingly I lingered after the funeral, and when the people were gone and I had taken several turns in the garden I ventured up the stairs to her room and knocked softly at her door.
“Come in,” was spoken in a frightened tone, and I went in and found her standing in the middle of the room, her hands pressed to her head and her eyes fixed upon the door with an expression of alarm.
At sight of me, however, they changed at once, and with a smile she said:
“Oh, it’s you. I thought it was mother.”
“No, she hasn’t had time to come back yet,” I replied; and then, touched by the look of her white face, I burst out: “Oh, Heloise, isn’t it terrible, and he so young and handsome? I am so sorry for you.”
“Hush-sh,” she said, in a tone of alarm. “Why are you sorry for me? Why should any one be more sorry for me than for another?”
She was gazing fixedly at me, and, impelled by something I could not or did not try to resist, I replied:
“Because,—because I guess he was your beau.”