unded her in her life, and
Mr. Furnival, her man of business, were the persons who really had the
management of everything. Their wives interfered a little too, or rather
the one wife who only could do so,--the wife of the vicar, who came in
beneficently at once, and took poor little Mary, in her first desolation,
out of the melancholy house. Mrs. Vicar did this without any hesitation,
knowing very well that, in all probability, Lady Mary had made no will,
and consequently that the poor girl was destitute. A great deal is said
about the hardness of the world, and the small consideration that is
shown for a destitute dependent in such circumstances. But this is not
true; and, as a matter of fact, there is never, or very rarely, such
profound need in the world, without a great deal of kindness and much
pity. The three gentlemen all along had been entirely in Mary's interest.
They had not expected legacies from the old lady, or any advantage to
themselves. It was of the girl that they had thought. And when now they
examined everything and inquired into all her ways and what she had done,
it was of Mary they were thinking. But Mr. Furnival was very certain of
his point. He knew that Lady Mary had made no will; time after time he
had pressed it upon her. He was very sure, even while he examined her
writing-table, and turned out all the drawers, that nothing would be
found. The little Italian cabinet had _chiffons_ in its drawers,
fragments of old lace, pieces of ribbon, little nothings of all sorts.
Nobody thought of the secret drawer; and if they had thought of it, where
could a place have been found less likely? If she had ever made a will,
she could have had no reason for concealing it. To be sure, they did
not reason in this way, being simply unaware of any place of concealment
at all. And Mary knew nothing about this search they were making. She did
not know how she was herself "left." When the first misery of grief was
exhausted, she began, indeed, to have troubled thoughts in her own
mind,--to expect that the vicar would speak to her, or Mr. Furnival send
for her, and tell her what she was to do. But nothing was said to her.
The vicar's wife had asked her to come for a long visit; and the anxious
people, who were forever talking over this subject and consulting what
was best for her, had come to no decision as yet, as to what must be said
to the person chiefly concerned. It was too heart-rending to have to put
the real