CHAPTER XIII
ARMOREL'S INHERITANCE
'You are now the mistress, dearie,' said Dorcas. 'It is time that you should learn what that means.'
It was the morning after the funeral—the Day of Accession—the beginning of the new reign.
'Why, Dorcas, it makes no difference, does it? There are still the flowers and the house and everything.'
'Yes—there's everything.' The old woman nodded her head meaningly. 'Oh! yes—there is everything. Oh! you don't know—you don't suspect—nobody knows—what a surprise is in store for you!'
'What surprise, Dorcas?'
'You've never been into her room except to see her lying dead. It's your room now. You can go in whenever you like. Always the master or the mistress has slept in that room. When her father-in-law died she took the room. And she's slept in it ever since. And no one, except me and Chessun to clean up and sweep and dust, has ever been in that room since. And now it's yours.'
'Well, Dorcas, it may be mine; but I shall go on sleeping in my own room.'
'Then keep it locked—keep it locked up—day and night. There's nobody in Samson to dread—but keep it locked! As for sleeping in it, time enough, perhaps, when you come to marry. But keep it locked——'