When they reached the village she halted before the low roof of Debs’s cottage.  “I had better go in first,” she said; “you can come in later, and in the meantime you might go to the station for me and find out the exact time that the express train leaves for the north.”

“But,” said the astonished consul, “I thought you were going to London?”

“No,” said Miss Desborough quietly, “I am going to join some friends at Harrogate.”

“But that train goes much earlier than the train south, and—­and I’m afraid Lord Beverdale will not have returned so soon.”

“How sad!” said Miss Desborough, with a faint smile, “but we must bear up under it, and—­I’ll write him.  I will be here until you return.”

She turned away and entered the cottage.  The granddaughter she had already seen and her sister, the servant at the Priory, were both chatting comfortably, but ceased as she entered, and both rose with awkward respect.  There was little to suggest that the body of their grandfather, already in a rough oak shell, was lying upon trestles beside them.

“You have carried out my orders, I see,” said Miss Desborough, laying down her parasol.

“Ay, miss; but it was main haard gettin’ et dooan so soon, and et cooast”—­

“Never mind the cost.  I’ve given you money enough, I think, and if I haven’t, I guess I can give you more.”

“Ay, miss!  Abbut the pa’son ‘ead gi’ un a funeral for nowt.”

“But I understood you to say,” said Miss Desborough, with an impatient flash of eye, “that your grandfather wished to be buried with his kindred in the north?”

“Ay, miss,” said the girl apologetically, “an naw ‘ees savit th’ munny.  Abbut e’d bean tickled ’ad ’ee knowed it!  Dear! dear! ’ee niver thowt et ‘ud be gi’en by stranger an’ not ’es ownt fammaly.”

“For all that, you needn’t tell anybody it was given by me,” said Miss Desborough.  “And you’ll be sure to be ready to take the train this afternoon—­without delay.”  There was a certain peremptoriness in her voice very unlike Miss Amelyn’s, yet apparently much more effective with the granddaughter.

“Ay, miss.  Then, if tha’ll excoose mea, I’ll go streight to ’oory oop sexten.”

She bustled away.  “Now,” said Miss Desborough, turning to the other girl, “I shall take the same train, and will probably see you on the platform at York to give my final directions.  That’s all.  Go and see if the gentleman who came with me has returned from the station.”

The girl obeyed.  Left entirely alone, Miss Desborough glanced around the room, and then went quietly up to the unlidded coffin.  The repose of death had softened the hard lines of the old man’s mouth and brow into a resemblance she now more than ever understood.  She had stood thus only a few years before, looking at the same face in a gorgeously inlaid mahogany casket, smothered amidst costly flowers, and surrounded by friends attired in all the luxurious