“In the way I prescribed, my dear madam.  Milk diet, without stimulants.  I’ll see you again in a couple of days, Miss Matty.”

“And you say she’s not to get up, doctor?”

“On no account, until I call again.”

The doctor departed, and Matty submitted to the remarkably dull life laid out for her.

In the course of the afternoon Mrs. Bell went out.  To each friend she met she made the same remarks: 

“Matty is very ill.  I’m dreadfully anxious about her.  Dr. Morris is in close attendance.  She’s to be kept strictly to her bed, and the greatest care has to be exercised to maintain her feeble strength.  It’s a heavy trial to have one’s child so ill—­and from such a cause.”

“Dear, dear,” the sympathizing neighbor would answer.  “What can be the matter, and Matty always looked so fresh and hearty?  Do you think she has gone and taken anything, Mrs. Bell?  Some people prophesy that we are to have an epidemic of small-pox.  It can’t be that, surely?  Taken so sudden too, for she was about yesterday.”

“Small-pox!” retorted Mrs. Bell, with withering scorn.  “As if a child of mine who had her vaccination beautifully would have small-pox!  No, no, it’s heart-blight, neighbor, it’s heart-blight, and I doubt if my girl will ever get over it.”

“Eh, ah—­you don’t say so,” the neighbor would instantly retort.  Now the listener was full of intense curiosity, and longing to learn everything.  Matty Bell ill with a heart affair!  No wonder her mother looked troubled.  Ah, men were deceivers ever!  And who had dared to trifle with her young affections?

Then Mrs. Bell would sigh deeply, and lower her voice, and point in the direction of the Manor.  It wasn’t for her to name names, but a certain young man had gone far, very far.  Why, they could bring an action against him, only they’d scorn to make public their poor child’s feelings.  Well, well, he might lead another bride, a certain designer, to the altar, but there would be no luck nor happiness for either of them, that Mrs. Bell would say.

It was in this manner that the good lady spread the report which she desired through the gossiping little town.  Rapidly did the little piece of gossip swell and magnify.  It even travelled into the country, and so huge did its dimensions grow there, that it not only killed Matty, but buried her, and placed a beautiful tablet in white marble over her grave, erected by the repentant Captain Bertram and the remorseful Beatrice Meadowsweet.

Meantime the dying martyr had a very dull time in her bed.  She was not the kind of girl to love very deeply—­her mother had done her utmost to make the poor child fall in love with Captain Bertram, but when all was said he had only managed to tickle her vanity.  Now she considered that he had put her to shame and derision, and she began to dislike him very much.  Her sisters fostered this dislike with the tales they brought in from the outside world.