"My poor, pale darling!" she said, kissing the cold cheeks. "You must stay with us until your lost roses come back."
But Harriet shook her head.
"I will go to France at once, please," she said, mournfully. "Madame
Beaufort was always good to me, and it was his last wish."
Her voice choked. She turned away her head.
"It shall be as you say, my dear. But who is to take you?"
"Mrs. Hilliard, and—I think—Sir Everard Kingsland."
Mrs. Hilliard had been housekeeper at Hunsden Hall, and was a distant relative of the family. Under the new dynasty she was leaving, and had proffered her services to escort her young mistress to Paris.
The Reverend Cyrus, who hated crossing the channel, had closed with the offer at once, and Sir Everard was to play protector.
One week Miss Hunsden remained at the rectory, fortunately so busied by her preparations for departure that no time was left for brooding over her bereavement.
And then, in spite of that great trouble, there was a sweet, new-born bliss flooding her heart.