“Miss Mary’s compliments and love, ma’am; and she says won’t you please step in thar, and set with Mistis’ friends and relations?” was the audible message delivered to her by Mrs. Trent’s spry waiting-maid.

Herbert looked dubious, and Mrs. Aylett enlarged her fine eyes in a manner that might mean either superciliousness or well-bred amazement.  But Mabel was neither surprised nor doubtful as to the proper course for her to pursue.  Time was when she was as much at home here as Rosa herself, and Mrs. Tazewell’s partiality for her was shared by others of the family.  That she had met none of them in ten or twelve years, did not at a season like the present dampen their affection.  They would rather on this account seize upon the opportunity of honoring publicly their mother’s old favorite.

The chamber was less light than the hall she traversed to reach it.

She recognized Mary Trent, the daughter next in age to Rosa, who fell upon her neck in a sobbing embrace, then the other sisters and their brother, Morton Tazewell, with his wife, and was formally presented to their children.

Finally she turned inquiringly toward a gentleman who stood against the window opposite the door, with a little girl beside him.

Confused beyond measure, as the hitherto unthought-of consequences of her impulsive action in sending for her friend rushed upon her mind, Mrs. Trent faltered out: 

“I forgot!  You must excuse me, but I was so anxious to see you.  My brother-in-law, Mr. Chilton.  He arrived yesterday—­not having heard of mother’s death.”

And for the first time since they looked their passionate farewell into each other’s eyes under the rose-arch of the portico at Ridgeley, on that rainy summer morning, the two who had been lovers again touched hands.

“I hope you are quite well, Mr. Chilton,” said Mabel’s firm, gentle voice.  “Is this your daughter?” kissing the serious-faced child on the forehead, and looking intently into her eyes in the hope of discovering a resemblance to her mother.

Then she went back to a chair next to Mrs. Trent’s, and began to talk softly of the event that had called them together, not glancing again at the window until the outer hall was stilled, that the clergyman might begin the funeral prayer.

“The services will be concluded at the grave,” was the announcement that succeeded the sermon; and there followed the shuffling of the bearers’ feet, and their measured tramp across the floors and down the steps of the back porch.

The daughters and daughter-in-law let fall their veils and pulled on their gloves, and Herbert Dorrance beckoned somewhat impatiently to his wife from the parlor door.  While she was on her way to join him, she saw his complexion vary to a greenish sallow, his mouth work spasmodically, and his eyes sink in anger or dismay.

Winston Aylett likewise noted and knew it, for the same look of abject terror he had observed upon the hard Scotch face when Mabel enumerated upon her fingers those she accused of having robbed her of her babe.