"At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that I removed that little vixen, Golden, from his pathway," she thought, with vindictive triumph. "If she had remained who knows what might have happened? I should like to know what became of her when she left Mrs. Desmond's. I sincerely hope she drowned herself in the sea!"
The carriage turned a sudden bend in the road, and Elinor, leaning idly forward to note the old, familiar landmarks, gazed intently one moment, then uttered a stifled cry of terror.
Bertram Chesleigh started, like one awaking from a dream.
"What is it? Has anything alarmed you, Miss Glenalvan?" he inquired, courteously.
"Look there," she cried, fearfully, pointing her hand through the window.
He followed the direction of her finger and saw—oh horror, that they were passing the burial-ground of the Glenalvans.
He saw a little band of black-robed mourners grouped around a narrow mound of freshly-thrown-up earth.
He saw the minister standing at the head of the grave with his open book, and fancied he could hear him repeating the solemn, beautiful words with which we consign "ashes to ashes, and dust to dust."
"Pray tell the driver to stop," Elinor cried out, excitedly, "I must get out. Someone of my own family must be dead."
He made no answer. He was handing her out with hands that trembled as nervously as her own. One terrible, blasting thought was in his mind.