not sufficiently striking to
cause suspicion."

"But she turned the house from that scent as soon as she came into it,"
struck in Miss Corny, "telling of the 'neuralgic pains' that affected
her head and face, rendering the guarding them from exposure necessary.
Remember, Lord Mount Severn, that the Ducies had been with her in
Germany, and had never suspected her. Remember also another thing, that,
however great a likeness we may have detected, we could not and did
not speak of it, one to another. Lady Isabel's name is never so much as
whispered among us."

"True: all true," nodded the earl. And they sat themselves down to
breakfast.

On the Friday, the following letter was dispatched to Mrs. Carlyle.

"MY DEAREST--I find I shall not be able to get to you on Saturday
afternoon, as I promised, but will leave here by the late train that
night. Mind you don't sit up for me. Lord Mount Severn is here for a few
days; he sends his regards to you.

"And now, Barbara, prepare for news that will prove a shock. Madame Vine
is dead. She grew rapidly worse, they tell me, after our departure, and
died on Wednesday night. I am glad you were away.

"Love from the children. Lucy and Archie are still at Cornelia's; Arthur
wearing out Sarah's legs in the nursery.

"Ever yours, my dearest,

"ARCHIBALD CARLYLE."

Of course, as Madame Vine, the governess, died at Mr. Carlyle's house,
he could not, in courtesy, do less than follow her to the grave. So
decided West Lynne, when they found which way the wind was going to
blow. Lord Mount Severn followed also, to keep him company, being on
a visit to him, and very polite, indeed, of his lordship to do
it--condescending, also! West Lynne remembered another funeral at which
those two had been the only mourners--that of the earl. By some curious
coincidence the French governess was buried close to the earl's grave.
As good there as anywhere else, quoth West Lynne. There happened to be a
vacant spot of ground.

The funeral took place on a Sunday morning. A plain, respectable
funeral. A hearse and pair, and mourning coach and pair, with a chariot
for the Rev. Mr. Little. No pall-bearers or mutes, or anything of that
show-off kind; and no plumes on the horses, only on the hearse. West
Lynne looked on with approbation, and conjectured that the governess
had left sufficient money to bury herself; but, of course, that was Mr.
Carlyle's affair, not West Lynne's. Quiet enough lay she in her