murmured more sadly than 'twas their wont to do, the funeral
train had passed; and in the dark, moist earth, by the side of many
other still, pale sleepers, who offered no remonstrance when among
them another came, they had buried the departed. From the windows of
the homestead lights were gleaming, and in the common sitting-room sat
Ernest Hamilton, and by his side his four motherless children. In the
stuffed armchair, sacred for the sake of one who had called it hers,
reclined the black bombazine and linen collar of Widow Carter!

She had, as she said, fully intended to return home immediately after
the burial, but there were so many little things to be seen to, so
much to be done, which Margaret, of course, did not feel like doing,
that she decided to stay until after supper, together with Lenora, who
had come to the funeral. When supper was over, and there was no longer
an excuse for lingering, she found, very greatly to her surprise and
chagrin, no doubt, that the clouds, which all day had looked dark and
angry, were now pouring rain.

"What shall I do?" she exclaimed in great apparent distress; then
stepping to the door of the sitting-room, she said, "Maggie, dear, can
you lend me an umbrella? It is raining very hard, and I do not wish to
go home without one; I will send it back to-morrow."

"Certainly," answered Margaret. "Umbrella and overshoes, too;" and
rising, she left the room to procure them.

"But you surely are not going out in this storm," said Mr. Hamilton;
while Carrie, who really liked Mrs. Carter, and felt that it would be
more lonely when she was gone, exclaimed eagerly, "Oh, don't leave us
to-night, Mrs. Carter. Don't."

"Yes, I think I must," was the answer, while Mr. Hamilton continued:
"You had better stay; but if you insist upon going, I will order the
carriage, as you must not walk."

"Rather than put you to all that trouble, I will remain," said Mrs.
Carter; and when Mag returned with two umbrellas and two pairs of
overshoes, she found the widow comfortably seated in her mother's
armchair, while on the stool at her side sat Lenora looking not unlike
a little imp, with her wild, black face, and short, thick curls.

Walter Hamilton had not had much opportunity for scanning the face of
Mrs. Carter, but now, as she sat there with the firelight flickering
over her features, he fancied that he could trace marks of the
treacherous deceit of which Mag had warned him; and when the full
black e