“You could soon make my eyes watery, I do believe,” Hubert said, with a gentleness that surprised me.

I saw Mrs. Flaxman quietly drying her eyes and wondered why my few, simple words should touch their tear fountain.

Towards evening I started on my walk to the Mill Road.  The gardener had very graciously allowed me to gather some flowers to take with me.  These I had arranged with some wet mosses I found in the woods that morning; and begging a nice little basket from the housekeeper, had them very daintily arranged.  When I came downstairs equipped for my walk, I found a very stylish young lady standing in the hall beside Mrs. Flaxman.

“Esmerelda will show you the way.  I scarcely feel equal for such a walk this hot day, and I know you will kindly excuse me.”

“Oh certainly; it would trouble me to have you walk any distance when you look so frail.”

“I am not frail, dear; but I have got into an idle habit of taking my outings in the carriage; and so walking soon tires me.”

I turned towards the young lady, who in a very graceful, dignified way seemed to be awaiting my pleasure.  I could not believe she was a servant, and felt quite shabby when I compared my own costume with hers.

When we were walking down the avenue I ventured a remark or two on the beauty of the place; but she answered me with such proud reserve I suddenly relapsed into silence which remained unbroken until we reached Mrs. Blake’s door.  While I stood knocking at the front door Esmerelda slipped around to the back of the cottage where a rough, board porch served as entrance for every day occasions.  Mrs. Blake met me with genuine cordiality, and then led me into a close smelling room.  The floor was covered with a cheap carpet, a few common chairs, a very much worn horse-hair sofa, and a table covered with a very new, and very gay-looking cloth, comprised the furnishing, with the exception of walls decorated with cheap chromos in the most wonderful frames I ever saw,—­some of them made of shells, some of leather, some of moss, and others simply covered, with bright pieces of chintz.  I longed to arrange them in more orderly fashion.  They were hanging crooked or too close together, not one of them in a proper way I decided, as I took a swift survey of the room.  But presently my gaze was arrested, and all thought of pictures hung awry ceased; for there, in a darkened corner of the room, I traced the rigid outlines of a human figure concealed beneath a sheet.

“You brought these to put round the corpse?” Mrs. Blake questioned, suddenly bringing me back from my startled reverie.

“Yes, if you would care for them.”

She lifted them out of the basket with a tenderness that surprised me, and placed them in water; she sat looking at them intently.

“Do you admire flowers?” I asked.

“Oh, yes; but they’re useless things, I s’pose.  No good once they’re wilted.”