lose to the
edge of the grave. But for the ceaseless attentions and tender
assiduities of Sister Agnes and Dance I should have slipped out of life
and all my troubles. To them I owe it that I am now alive to write these
lines. One bright afternoon, as I was approaching convalescence, Sister
Agnes and I, sitting alone, got into conversation respecting the room
upstairs, and my visit to it.

"But whose coffin is that, Sister Agnes?" I asked. "And why is it left
there unburied?"

"It is the coffin of Sir John Chillington, her ladyship's late
husband," answered Sister Agnes, very gravely. "He died thirteen years
ago. By his will a large portion of the property left to his widow was
contingent on his body being kept unburied and above ground for twenty
years. Lady Chillington elected to have the body kept in that room which
you were so foolish as to visit without permission; and there it will
probably remain till the twenty years shall have expired. All these
facts are well known to the household; indeed, to the country for miles
around; but it was not thought necessary to mention them to a child like
you, whose stay in the house would be of limited duration, and to whom
such knowledge could be of no possible benefit."

"But why do you visit the room every midnight, Sister Agnes?"

"It is the wish of Lady Chillington that, day and night, twelve candles
shall be kept burning round the coffin, and ever since I came to reside
at Deepley Walls it has been part of my duty to renew the candles once
every twenty-four hours. Midnight is the hour appointed for the
performance of that duty."

"Do you not feel afraid to go there alone at such a time?"

"Dear Janet, what is there to be afraid of? The dead have no power to
harm us. We shall be as they are in a very little while. They are but
travellers who have gone before us into a far country, leaving behind
them a few poor relics, and a memory that, if we have loved them, ought
to make us look forward with desire to the time when we shall see them
again."

Three weeks later I left Deepley Walls. Madame Delclos was in London for
a week, and it was arranged that I should return to France with her.
Major Strickland took me up to town and saw me safely into her hands. My
heart was very sad at leaving all my dear new-found friends, but Sister
Agnes had exhorted me to fortitude before I parted from her, and I knew
that neither by her, nor the Major, nor George, nor Dance, should I b