Consisting so largely of the charcoal and ashes of hard dry oak and chestnut, intermingled with thatch, the interior of the heap was one glowing mass of embers, which, on being stirred about, emitted sparks and flame long after it was dead and black on the outside.  It was persistently hoped, however, that some traces of the body would survive the effect of the hot coals, and after a search pursued uninterruptedly for thirty hours, under the direction of Manston himself, enough was found to set at rest any doubts of her fate.

The melancholy gleanings consisted of her watch, bunch of keys, a few coins, and two charred and blackened bones.

Two days later the official inquiry into the cause of her death was held at the Rising Sun Inn, before Mr. Floy, the coroner, and a jury of the chief inhabitants of the district.  The little tavern—­the only remaining one in the village—­was crowded to excess by the neighbouring peasantry as well as their richer employers:  all who could by any possibility obtain an hour’s release from their duties being present as listeners.

The jury viewed the sad and infinitesimal remains, which were folded in a white cambric cloth, and laid in the middle of a well-finished coffin lined with white silk (by Manston’s order), which stood in an adjoining room, the bulk of the coffin being completely filled in with carefully arranged flowers and evergreens—­also the steward’s own doing.

Abraham Brown, of Hoxton, London—­an old white-headed man, without the ruddiness which makes white hairs so pleasing—­was sworn, and deposed that he kept a lodging-house at an address he named.  On a Saturday evening less than a month before the fire, a lady came to him, with very little luggage, and took the front room on the second floor.  He did not inquire where she came from, as she paid a week in advance, but she gave her name as Mrs. Manston, referring him, if he wished for any guarantee of her respectability, to Mr. Manston, Knapwater Park.  Here she lived for three weeks, rarely going out.  She slept away from her lodgings one night during the time.  At the end of that time, on the twenty-eighth of November, she left his house in a four-wheeled cab, about twelve o’clock in the day, telling the driver to take her to the Waterloo Station.  She paid all her lodging expenses, and not having given notice the full week previous to her going away, offered to pay for the next, but he only took half.  She wore a thick black veil, and grey waterproof cloak, when she left him, and her luggage was two boxes, one of plain deal, with black japanned clamps, the other sewn up in canvas.