"I do not think they were very good managers, to tell you the truth," she said; "and they had not much to save from."
"What will become of her then?" he repeated, with sudden animation.
"I can scarcely tell what may happen eventually," replied Mrs. Villars; "but should my poor sister die, I mean to bring my niece back with me, for the present, at least. She is a good-looking girl, and I may be able to get her settled."
"Settled!" repeated Hargrave, mechanically, and relapsed into silence.
Soon afterwards, a turn in the road brought in sight some tall, old-fashioned gates, opening on an avenue of dark trees, through which nothing could be discerned, but the gable ends of a more distant mansion. Here Hargrave alighted, and bidding her good-bye, in a tone of sadness, which seemed the highest compliment to her present affliction, entered the old gateway, and stood there, till Mrs. Villars was beyond his sight.
Musingly she continued her journey, and gladly would she have had his further companionship, to screen her from the thoughts which were now rapidly gaining entrance into her mind.
It was one of those dark days, when the shadows seem to fall long before the unseen sun has set; and, as the horses speeded along, she gathered the folds of her cloak closer around her, and endeavoured to suppress the shudder, which something beyond the cold biting air of a dull easterly wind made to pass over her frame. Night had already closed, dark, dismal, and cold, before she reached Aston. As they entered the village, she leaned from the window, and expressed her desire to stop at the inn, she remembered; but a further glance at the ruined village, faintly shewn by the light of the carriage-lamps, as she rattled through it, told her of nothing but scattered timbers and blackened walls, and thus obliged her to change her order, and drive, at once, to Aston Manor.
As the chaise rolled lightly up the smooth gravelled avenue to the Manor, Mrs. Villars endeavoured to calm her trembling agitation, with the hope that all would yet be well; but the low, hurried whispers, in the dimly lighted hall, that greeted her arrival, unnerved her, and, dispensing with the assistance, she usually so rigorously exacted from her inferiors, she hurried from the chaise, and entered the hall, exclaiming—
"Can it be possible? am I too late?"
"Yes, indeed, ma'am," replied the housekeeper, now advancing; "it is too true. We closed her eyes but late last night."