e key is under the water butt; if you be any
other body, let it be. Deb.'

Gwen took the key up, unlocked the door, and went in. The kitchen was
spotlessly clean, the grate shining with blacklead. On the square deal
table lay a letter with her name upon it. But before reading it, Gwen
hastily searched the house, to make certain that it was empty, and then
she perused the badly written epistle.

'Miss Gwen,--

'Your humble servant Deborah Howlitt write these lines to you hoping it
may find you as it leaves her at present knowing your kind heart, and I
always did have a leaning towards you more than most, and so did Patty
for her said you were a woman of good understanding I think it best to
leave you all our savings which you will find under our golden russet
in my mother's china tea-pot, for Patty said the same when she were a
dying. And you will use them to save you from the House if your money
has gone from you. Will you be so good as to give the clothes in our
chest of drawers to them that need them. We did think of turning our
brown serges, and if they were ripped round the bottom and braided
afresh would be good Sunday skirts. I have been to our grave three
nights running for I heard her calling, but the good God won't take me
yet. I'm going to-night, and may be I shall not be back. Patty could
not say I have not cleaned for there is no speck of dirt to be seen.
And now goodbye and never put your will against the Almighty for I am
praying not to do it myself for I am a poor old desolate woman and if
He says "Live," I will live, but He seems to say to-night "Come,"
and,---

"Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come!"

'Your obedient servant,
'DEBORAH HOWLITT.'

Gwen hurriedly left the cottage after reading this, and went straight
to the churchyard. No one evidently had been near Patty's grave that
day, for there, lying in long grass, with her arms crossed on the
uncovered mound, and her grey head bowed upon them, was the cold, stiff
form of poor Deb. How many hours she had been there in the still
coldness of an October's night no one could tell; but the doctor put
down her death to grief and exposure. Gwen broke the tidings to Agatha
with a sob in her voice.

'I loved those old women. They were the only friends I had here.'

CHAPTER XIX

The Rightful Heir

And words of true love p