The corpse was to be taken from the station to the parish church, there to be interred.  Miss Jessie had set her heart on following it to the grave; and no dissuasives could alter her resolve.  Her restraint upon herself made her almost obstinate; she resisted all Miss Pole’s entreaties and Miss Jenkyns’ advice.  At last Miss Jenkyns gave up the point; and after a silence, which I feared portended some deep displeasure against Miss Jessie, Miss Jenkyns said she should accompany the latter to the funeral.

“It is not fit for you to go alone.  It would be against both propriety and humanity were I to allow it.”

Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this arrangement; but her obstinacy, if she had any, had been exhausted in her determination to go to the interment.  She longed, poor thing, I have no doubt, to cry alone over the grave of the dear father to whom she had been all in all, and to give way, for one little half-hour, uninterrupted by sympathy and unobserved by friendship.  But it was not to be.  That afternoon Miss Jenkyns sent out for a yard of black crape, and employed herself busily in trimming the little black silk bonnet I have spoken about.  When it was finished she put it on, and looked at us for approbation—­admiration she despised.  I was full of sorrow, but, by one of those whimsical thoughts which come unbidden into our heads, in times of deepest grief, I no sooner saw the bonnet than I was reminded of a helmet; and in that hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half jockey-cap, did Miss Jenkyns attend Captain Brown’s funeral, and, I believe, supported Miss Jessie with a tender, indulgent firmness which was invaluable, allowing her to weep her passionate fill before they left.

Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile attended to Miss Brown:  and hard work we found it to relieve her querulous and never-ending complaints.  But if we were so weary and dispirited, what must Miss Jessie have been!  Yet she came back almost calm as if she had gained a new strength.  She put off her mourning dress, and came in, looking pale and gentle, thanking us each with a soft long pressure of the hand.  She could even smile—­a faint, sweet, wintry smile—­as if to reassure us of her power to endure; but her look made our eyes fill suddenly with tears, more than if she had cried outright.

It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her all the watching livelong night; and that Miss Matty and I were to return in the morning to relieve them, and give Miss Jessie the opportunity for a few hours of sleep.  But when the morning came, Miss Jenkyns appeared at the breakfast-table, equipped in her helmet-bonnet, and ordered Miss Matty to stay at home, as she meant to go and help to nurse.  She was evidently in a state of great friendly excitement, which she showed by eating her breakfast standing, and scolding the household all round.