.

'I wish I could do something,' said Molly. 'Wouldn't you feel better if
you told me? They say it does you good not to grieve in solitary
concealment. I'm sure I could understand if you didn't use long words.'

And, curiously enough, Aunt Maria did tell her, almost exactly what she
had heard from Clements.

'And I know there was a will leaving it all to your father and me,' she
said; 'I saw it signed. It was witnessed by the butler we had then--he
died the year after--and by Mr. Sheldon: he died, too, out hunting.'

Her voice softened, and Molly snuggled closer and said:

'Poor Mr. Sheldon!'

'He and I were to have been married,' said Aunt Maria suddenly. 'That's
his picture in the hall between the carp and your Great-uncle
Carruthers.'

'Poor auntie!' said Molly, thinking of the handsome man in scarlet next
the stuffed carp--'oh, poor auntie, I do love you so!'

Aunt Maria put an arm round her.

'Oh, my dear,' she said, 'you don't understand. All the happy things
that ever happened to me happened here, and all the sad things too; if
they turn me out I shall die--I know I shall. It's been bad enough,' she
went on, more to herself than to Molly; 'but there's always been the
place just as it was when I was a girl, when he used to come here: so
bold and laughing he always was. I can see him here quite plainly; I've
only to shut my eyes. But I couldn't see him anywhere else.'

'Don't wills get hidden away sometimes?' Molly asked; for she had read
stories about such things.

'We looked everywhere,' said Aunt Maria--'everywhere. We had detectives
from London, because there were things he'd left to other people, and we
wanted to carry out his wishes; but we couldn't find it. Uncle must have
destroyed it, and meant to make another, only he never did--he never
did. Oh, I hope the dead can't see what we suffer! If my Uncle
Carruthers and dear James could see me turned out of the old place, it
would break their hearts even up in heaven.'

Molly was silent. Suddenly her aunt seemed to awake from a dream.

'Good gracious, child,' she said, 'what nonsense I've been talking! Go
away and play, and forget all about it. Your own troubles will begin
soon enough.'

'I do love you, auntie,' said Molly, and went.

Aunt Maria never unbent again as she had done that evening; but Molly
felt a difference that made all the difference. She was not afraid of
her aunt now, and she loved her. Besides, things were happening. The
W