daughter. She had brought a little bundle with her, thinking that she
might supply feminine wants, and had apologised humbly for venturing
to come so laden. Fenwick, who remembered what Carry had said about
money that she still had, and who was nearly sure that the murderers
had gone to Pycroft Common after the murder had been committed, had
found a difficulty in explaining to Mrs. Brattle that her child was
probably not in want. The son had been accused of the murder of the
man, and now the Vicar had but little doubt that the daughter was
living on the proceeds of the robbery. "It's a hard life she must be
living, Mr. Fenwick, with an old 'ooman the likes of that," said Mrs.
Brattle. "Perhaps if I'd brought a morsel of some'at to eat--"

"I don't think they're pressed in that way, Mrs. Brattle."

"Ain't they now? But it's a'most worse, Mr. Fenwick, when one thinks
where it's to come from. The Lord have mercy on her, and bring her
out of it!"

"Amen," said the Vicar.

"And is she bright at all, and simple still? She was the brightest,
simplest lass in all Bull'ompton, I used to think. I suppose her old
ways have a'most left her, Mr. Fenwick?"

"I thought her very like what she used to be."

"'Deed now, did you, Mr. Fenwick? And she wasn't mopish and
slatternly like?"

"She was tidy enough. You wouldn't wish me to say that she was
happy?"

"I suppose not, Mr. Fenwick. I shouldn't ought;--ought I, now? But,
Mr. Fenwick, I'd give my left hand she should be happy and gay once
more. I suppose none but a mother feels it, but the sound of her
voice through the house was ever the sweetest music I know'd on.
It'll never have the same ring again, Mr. Fenwick."

He could not tell her that it would. That sainted sinner of whom he
had reminded Mr. Puddleham, though she had attained to the joy of the
Lord,--even she had never regained the mirth of her young innocence.
There is a bloom on the flower which may rest there till the
flower has utterly perished, if the handling of it be sufficiently
delicate;--but no care, nothing that can be done by friends on earth,
or even by better friendship from above, can replace that when once
displaced. The sound of which the mother was thinking could never be
heard again from Carry Brattle's voice. "If we could only get her
home once more," said the Vicar, "she might be a good daughter to you
still."

"I'd be a good mother to her, Mr. Fenwick;--but I'm thinking he'll
never have it