_Paradise Lost_, which had always been considered Sunday reading by the
Warrenders, and came in very conveniently at this moment. They had been
busy all day with the maid and the dressmaker from the village, getting
their mourning ready. There were serious doubts in their minds how high
the crape ought to come on their skirts, and whether a cuff of that
material would be enough without other trimmings on the sleeves; but as
it was very trying to the eyes to work at black in candlelight, they
had laid it all aside out of sight, and so far as was possible out of
thought, and composed themselves to read as a suitable occupation for
the evening, less cheerful than either coloured or white needlework, and
more appropriate. It was very difficult, especially for Minnie, upon
whom the chief responsibility would rest, to put that question of the
crape out of her thoughts; but she read on in a very determined manner,
and it is to be hoped that she succeeded. She felt very deeply the
impropriety of her mother's proceedings. She had never herself stirred
out-of-doors since her father's death, and would not till after the
funeral, should the interests of nations hang on it. She, at least,
knew what her duty was, and would do it. Chatty was not so sure on this
subject, but she had been more used to follow Minnie than to follow
mamma, and she was loyal to her traditions. One window was open a little
behind the half-closed shutters, and let in something of the sounds and
odours of the night. Chatty was aware that the moon was at the full, and
would have liked to stretch her young limbs with a run; but she dared
not even think of such a thing in sight of Minnie's face.

"I wonder how long mamma means to stay. One would think she was _enjoying_
it," Minnie said, with a little emphasis on the word. As she used it, it
seemed the most reprehensible verb in the world.

"She likes to be with Theo," said Chatty; "and she is always such a one
for the air."

"Likes!" said her sister. "Is this a time to think of what one likes,
with poor dear papa in his coffin?"

"She never left him as long as he wanted her," said the apologetic
sister.

"No, indeed, I should hope not; that would have been criminal. Poor dear
mamma would never do anything really bad; but she does not mind if she
does a thing that is unusual. It is _very_ unusual to go out before the
funeral; it is a thing that is never done, especially by the ladies of
the house."

"Shal