“I am fully satisfied, madam,” said I, at length, turning from my unpleasant task.

She let her calm, earnest eyes dwell on mine for a few moments, and then answered, with a softened tone, in which there was just a perceptible thrill of feeling—­

“If I were a believer in omens, I should take this sad incident, following so quickly on our removal to a new country and a new home, as foreshadowing evil to me or mine.  But I do not so read external events.”

“Between a life like hers, and a life like yours, madam, there can be no possible nearness; nor any relation between your spiritual affinities and hers.  The antipodes are not farther apart,” said I, in return; “therefore, nothing that has befallen her can be ominous as to you.”

“I trust not,” she gravely answered, as we left the room together.

To my inquiry if I could serve her in any way, in the present matter, she simply requested me to send a respectable undertaker, who would perform what was fitting in the last rites due to the dead.

I promised, and retired.

CHAPTER VIII.

The appearance, manner, and bearing of the two strangers impressed me strongly.  The elder had evidently moved in refined and cultivated society all her life.  There was about her the air of “a lady, born and bred”—­dignified, calm, easy, and courteous.  The daughter was a lovely blossom on this stately stem—­delicate, beautiful, sweet with the odors of innocence.  I see her now as I saw her on that first night of our meeting—­to my eyes a new born vision of loveliness.

I found Constance awaiting, with curious interest, my return.  I was going right into the heart of this new wonder, and could not fail to bring back some revelation that would satisfy, in a measure, the excitement of mind produced by so singular an intrusion of strangers upon our quiet town.  I answered her first look of inquiry by the words:—­

“It is over.  Another book of life is sealed up here to be opened in eternity.”

“Dead!  Not dead?”

“Yes, Constance, Mrs. Allen is dead.  Her spirit had passed away before my arrival.”

“How did she die?—­from what cause?”

“From what I can learn she died in a fit of passion.”  I then related all that I had seen and heard.

“But who can they be?” This query came as a natural sequence.  “What right have they in the Allen House?”

“Whoever they may be,” I replied, “they act, or, at least, the elder of the two ladies acts as if her right there was not even open to a question.  And, perhaps, it is not.”

“But what can they be to the Allens?”

“I will give you,” said I, “the benefit of my guessing on the subject.  You recollect the story told about Captain Allen’s mother; how she went off a great many years ago with a stranger—­an Englishman.”

Constance remembered all about this family history, for it was the romance of our town.