concealed under her hood and veil, seeing
nothing but the grave before her, hearing nothing but the sacred words
and the terrible sound of "dust to dust," the young creature stood
steadfast, and gave the dead man who had loved her his due--last
offering of nature and love, sweeter to anticipate than any honours.
Nobody but his child offered to poor Mr Wodehouse that last right of
humanity, or made his grave sacred with natural tears.

When they went back sadly out of all that blinding sunshine into the
darkened house, it was not all over, as poor Lucy had supposed. She
had begun to come to herself and understand once more the looks of the
people about her, when the old maid, who had been the attendant of the
sisters during all Lucy's life, undid her wrappings, and in her
agitation of the moment kissed her white cheek, and held her in her
arms. "Oh, Miss Lucy, darling, don't take on no more than you can
help. I'm sore, sore afeared that there's a deal of trouble afore you
yet," said the weeping woman. Though Lucy had not the smallest
possible clue to her meaning, and was almost too much worn out to be
curious, she could not help a vague thrill of alarm. "What is it,
Alland?" she said, rising up from the sofa on which she had thrown
herself. But Alland could do nothing but cry over her nursling and
console her. "Oh, my poor dear! oh, my darling! as he never would have
let the wind of heaven to blow rough upon her!" cried the old servant.
And it was just then that Miss Wodehouse, who was trembling all over
hysterically, came into the room.

"We have to go down-stairs," said the elder sister. "Oh Lucy, my
darling, it was not my fault at first. I should have told you last
night to prepare you, and I had not the heart. Mr Wentworth has told
me so often--"

"Mr Wentworth?" said Lucy. She rose up, not quite knowing where she
was; aware of nothing, except that some sudden calamity, under which
she was expected to faint altogether, was coming to her by means of Mr
Wentworth. Her mind jumped at the only dim possibility that seemed to
glimmer through the darkness. He must be married, she supposed, or
about to be married; and it was this they insulted her by thinking
that she could not bear. There was not a particle of colour in her
face before, but the blood rushed into it with a bitterness of shame
and rage which she had never known till now. "I will go down with you
if it is necessary," said Lucy; "but surely this is a strang