e was
coming down for her.

She had come to like Cousin Giles very much. He was so different from
Chilian--breezy and rather teasing--and, oh, what would Cousin Elizabeth
have said to his fashion of getting things about, putting papers or
books on chairs, mislaying his glasses and his gloves, and she would
think the fine furniture, and the servants, and the little feasts
awfully extravagant.

Poor Elizabeth! She had never come back to consciousness. She had shrunk
intensely from the last moment when she would have to face death and the
judgment, though she had been striving all her life to prepare for it.
But God had mercifully spared her that, the two worlds had touched and
merged with each other and left her to God.

There had been a quiet funeral, though it was well attended, but the
coffin was closed and a pall thrown over it, for the poor face had never
recovered its natural look.

All this was softened to Cynthia, as she sat with Cousin Chilian's arm
about her. She had the sweet remembrance of that last day, and the smile
that somehow had made the wrinkled face pretty. It had been thoughtful
and tender in Cousin Chilian to spare her the rest.

They went over to Cambridge and he took her through the place that was
to be so much grander before she was done with life. And here was the
house where he had lived through the week, going home to spend Sundays,
for his father was alive then. And he told her stories about old Boston,
some quaintly funny, but she was rather proud that Salem had been the
first capital of the State.

"I've had such a nice time," she said with her adieu. "Every day has
been full of pleasure. I thank you both very much."

She was to come again, and again, they rejoined cordially.

"What a nice child!" Cousin Giles said. "She doesn't seem to consider
what an heiress she is. And she's enough like Chilian to be his own
child. He always had that dainty way with him, like a woman, and
everything must be fine and nice, yet he never was ostentatious. She'll
make a charming young woman. I wish I could persuade Chilian to come to
Boston."

Chilian had driven in with the carriage. There had been a shower in the
night and the travelling was delightful. He had missed his little girl
so much, yet he knew it had been better to save her the poignancy of the
sad occurrence. So her father had thought in his trusting appeal.

CHAPTER XII

CHANGES IN THE OLD HOUSE

There was not as much cha