"Oh, no, but I feel so nervous. If I had kept awake last night and known if she needed anything I would not feel so miserable."

"Kept awake!" echoed her companion in astonishment. "I hope you don't mean to say that you let her die alone?"

"She pa.s.sed away while I was asleep," said Diana humbly. "I thought her so much better!"

"Thought her better, and you a trained nurse, calling yourself a watcher; a professional, if you please!"

"You cannot make me feel more self-condemned than I am," sighed Diana tearfully, "but I have the comfort of knowing that if she could speak she would grant me her forgiveness. She was a saint on earth if ever there was one."

"I fail to see how she could be with all that pride; she scarcely noticed me."

"I am sure it was not pride. She was very retiring in disposition, and the neighbors may not have tried to make her acquaintance."

"Because she showed by her manner that she considered herself above us.

No one suited her highness except Mrs. Farnsworth and Anna and Mrs.

Courtney; and it is plain to be seen that their elegant homes were the attraction. I wonder that she was so anxious to be friends with them when her home was so poor."

"But all is comfortable and pretty," replied Diana glancing about her, "and she kept it in beautiful order."

"Well, what she did and what she did not do is no concern of ours. What we have to do is to bow these shutters and sit down and wait for someone to go for the undertaker."

Diana went outside to watch, and while she was gone Miss Flint stood in the doorway between the rooms and took a look over the objects of beauty and utility contained therein, and over her grim lips pa.s.sed a satisfied smile.

"Yes," she said to herself, "it is the very plan; and trust Jerusha Flint to carry out any scheme she determines upon. Yes, it shall be done!"

Diana in the meantime had unhooked the shutters, bowed them, and returned with the intelligence that Perry had been sent over by Mrs.

Merryman to offer his services, and had gone to Dorton to see the undertaker, and, that care removed, they could think of other things.

"What time will you set for the funeral?" asked Diana.

"That will depend upon Mr. Courtney. If he can preach the sermon to-morrow afternoon that will be the time to appoint. I will go over to 'Friedenheim' after the undertaker has been here and ask him."

"But isn't that very soon? She died only-"

"You were asleep and know nothing about it," interrupted Jerusha sarcastically. "What would be the use of waiting for her sister who has not set a time for coming? And there is no one in the neighborhood who cares when she is buried."

Perry had returned and, to the relief of Diana, could remain as long as wanted, so the moment the undertaker departed Miss Flint hurried to "Friedenheim," saw Rev. Courtney, who made it convenient to conduct the services the following afternoon, and thus far the plan was working well.

Her next call was upon the owner of the cottage, who was willing to allow her to live there in Mrs. Ashley's place, the rent having been paid by the year, and she returned in exuberant spirits.

"I will tell you what I have been doing," she said, her black eyes sparkling and her cheeks glowing with the brisk walk. "There is no one to care for Hilda, so I will stay here until Mrs. Warfield comes."

"Oh, that is so kind of you!" said Diana eagerly. "I never for a moment thought you would stay. I thought you had such a good home with my sister-in-law and your brother."

"There is where I stop," replied Miss Flint with emphasis. "I told Horace the very day he brought his wife there that his house would be my home only while I could not have a better one. I have the chance now to have one more to my liking and am going to take it. I will stay here until Mrs. Warfield comes, and then can decide what course to take."

In her own mind she did not believe that Mrs. Warfield would ever come, but she kept her opinion to herself.

"Hilda is no relation of Mrs. Warfield's, I think you said," she remarked after a pause.

"No, she was Mr. Ashley's niece, not Mrs. Ashley's; but Mrs. Warfield will surely take her when she hears that it was her sister's last request."

Miss Flint had another plan in her mind but she said nothing about it to Diana; and that was that as soon as the funeral was over the next afternoon, and Diana gone, she would go immediately about arranging the furniture to suit herself, and then walk to her brother's house in the village and make arrangements with him to have her effects brought to her new abode.

All these plans fell into line at the proper place; the funeral was over, a long train of neighbors following the bier to the Dorton churchyard, but among them not one relative or near friend of the departed.

Diana remained at the cottage until Miss Flint returned; then, being as eager to leave as Jerusha was to have the house to herself, she was not slow in taking the hint that her company could be dispensed with, and left for the village.

In the kindness of her heart she went out of her way to call at the miller's to tell Hilda of the changes in her home.

"Yes, I know," a.s.sented the little girl; "she told me she was going to heaven and will see my father and mother and Uncle Ashley."

"You are to go back now, Hilda," said Diana, her eyes filling with tears. "Miss Flint is so kind as to take care of you until Mrs. Warfield comes."

The miller's little girl saw her safely to the cottage gate, and bade her good-bye with a parting kiss.

"What brought you here until I sent for you?" exclaimed Miss Flint angrily, as Hilda stepped in. "I am just going out."

"Diana told me to come," said Hilda, cowering; "she said you were so kind as to take care of me."

"Just like the meddlesome wretch! Now I will have to stay at home or drag you along with me."

Hilda began to cry, and Miss Flint could scarcely restrain herself from laying violent hands upon her, while every nerve thrilled.

"Stop crying instantly, or I will give you something to cry for!" she said harshly.

"I wish I were in heaven," sobbed the child.

"You cannot wish it any more than I do! You could well be spared from here."

Hilda raised her head and looked with earnest gaze at Miss Flint.

"What are you staring at? Get a book or something and stare at it."

"I left my new book under the apple tree; please open the door for me."

Her companion was glad to comply, and Hilda returned quickly with it, and, sitting in her little chair, examined it with the look of having regained a lost friend.

"I am glad you have a pretty book," remarked Miss Flint, calling what she flattered herself was a pleasant smile to her aid. "I am going out for a little while and you must not stir from that chair until I come back;" and hastily donning her wraps she locked the door, put the key in her pocket and walked rapidly to Dorton.

After arranging for the removal of her possessions, she called to see Mrs. Lattinger to say that she would come next morning to fit the dress, and then set out for the cottage.

She considered that her absence was short, but to Hilda it appeared endless. It was growing dark and she imagined that Miss Flint had left her to pa.s.s the night alone. She was a timid child, and Miss Flint's harshness had made her nervous, and her sobs and cries were pitiful.

She had obeyed the mandate to stay in the chair; and opposite was a lounge with cretonne cover, the ruffle of which reached the floor. She saw this ruffle move, and when something peeped out and quickly withdrew, her terror was beyond control.

Miss Flint's anger broke forth when she found her in this state upon her return.