Sophia's eyes were full of tears.
"How did she die?" she whispered.
"Of the smallpox, my lady. And that is why Sir Hervey is so particular about it."
"How do you mean? Is he afraid of it?"
"Oh, no, my lady, far from it! He had it years ago himself. But wherever it is, he's for giving help. That's why we kept it from him that 'twas at Beamond's Farm, thinking that as your ladyship was coming, he would not wish to be in the way of it. But he was wonderful angry when he learned about it, and went off as soon as news came from his reverence; who would have sent sooner, but he was took ill yesterday. I can pretty well guess what Sir Hervey's gone about," she added sagaciously.
"What?" Sophia asked.
Mrs. Stokes hesitated, but decided to speak.
"Well, it happened once before, my lady," she said, "that they could get no one to help bury; and Sir Hervey went and set the example. You may be sure there were plenty then, as had had it, and had no cause to fear, ready to come forward to do the work. And I've not much doubt, my lady, it's for that he's gone this time. He'd stay away a night at the keeper's cottage, I expect," Mrs. Stokes continued, nodding her head sagely, "just to see to his clothes being destroyed and the like. For there's no one more careful to carry no risks, I will say that for his honour."
Sophia stared.
"But do you mean," she cried, her heart beating strangely, "that Sir Hervey would do the work with his own hands?"