I turned towards the young lady, who in a very graceful, dignified way seemed to be awaiting my pleasure. I could not believe she was a servant, and felt quite shabby when I compared my own costume with hers.
When we were walking down the avenue I ventured a remark or two on the beauty of the place; but she answered me with such proud reserve I suddenly relapsed into silence which remained unbroken until we reached Mrs. Blake's door. While I stood knocking at the front door Esmerelda slipped around to the back of the cottage where a rough, board porch served as entrance for every day occasions. Mrs. Blake met me with genuine cordiality, and then led me into a close smelling room. The floor was covered with a cheap carpet, a few common chairs, a very much worn horse-hair sofa, and a table covered with a very new, and very gay-looking cloth, comprised the furnishing, with the exception of walls decorated with cheap chromos in the most wonderful frames I ever saw,—some of them made of shells, some of leather, some of moss, and others simply covered, with bright pieces of chintz. I longed to arrange them in more orderly fashion. They were hanging crooked or too close together, not one of them in a proper way I decided, as I took a swift survey of the room. But presently my gaze was arrested, and all thought of pictures hung awry ceased; for there, in a darkened corner of the room, I traced the rigid outlines of a human figure concealed beneath a sheet.
"You brought these to put round the corpse?" Mrs. Blake questioned, suddenly bringing me back from my startled reverie.
"Yes, if you would care for them."
She lifted them out of the basket with a tenderness that surprised me, and placed them in water; she sat looking at them intently.
"Do you admire flowers?" I asked.
"Oh, yes; but they're useless things, I s'pose. No good once they're wilted."
"But they are perfect while they last."
"Yes, and I allus feels sorry for the poor things, when I see 'em put round a corpse and buried in the ground; may be they have more feeling than we allow for."
She spoke so sadly, I felt my eyes moisten; but whether it was out of pity for the flowers, the poor dead woman lying opposite, or my friend Mrs. Blake, who seemed strangely subdued, I could not tell.