Old Reynolds, who had been in the library when it was announced the Baronet had left no will, and that the entire property fell to his cousin, Sir Ralph, immediately summoned the domestics in the servants’ hall and related to his astonished hearers what he had heard.  Consternation was depicted on the countenance of all, and a wordy colloquy ensued as to what would become of their dear young mistress, and whether they would be discharged to make room for others whom the new Baronet might choose to appoint.  The grey-headed old Butler had been at Vellenaux since he was a lad of fourteen, and had known Colonel Effingham, who had frequently, prior to leaving the service, visited his old companion-in-arms, Sir Jasper Coleman, at his favorite residence, felt much concerned that the niece of his old master should have been left unprovided for.  “Of course,” Said Annette, Edith’s own maid “I shall have to return home, for I do not suppose Miss Effingham will remain here very long, as Sir Ralph is a bachelor, and I know for certain that she dislikes him exceedingly.”

“But what will madam, the widow, do,” enquired the footman.

“Set her cap at him as she did at our poor, dear old master,” responded the housekeeper, “No fear, she will take care not to be a loser by the change.”  “She will, no doubt,” suggested another, “keep house for Sir Ralph until he brings home a Lady Coleman, or is persuaded into marrying the widow herself.”

It was quite evident, that sympathy ran high in Edith’s favour, and that they cared not a jot for the ex-governess or the new master.  But they were too well trained to betray what they thought concerning the two last named persons.

The matter was duly talked over throughout the neighbourhood.  Some shook their heads but said nothing, and others said a great deal that meant nothing.  The Bartons sent a very kind and sympathizing letter to Edith in which they offered her an asylum at the Willows, should she think a little change of scene would in any way reconcile her to the loss she had sustained, they having heard that Miss Effingham had in her grief declined for the present to receive her most intimate friends and acquaintances.

For many days after the funeral Edith kept within the seclusion of her own chamber, alas, hers now no longer, but the property of another and of one whose presence was repugnant to her.  With returning consciousness also came the realization of the sad spectacle that had met her view in the private library.  She had loved and respected her uncle, and had ever looked up to him as a father, which he had indeed been since the death of her parents, whom she did not recollect, and grief for his loss had outweighed all other thoughts and considerations for the future, and for the first week she gave herself up to inconsolable sorrow.  But at length that practical good sense with which nature had endowed her, came to her relief.  She stifled the rising sobs in her young bosom and prepared to face the stern realities of life, which must ere long, she knew, force themselves upon her.