Lord, Lord! Mum, it's quite true—and
they've come over to tell his daughters. The
child's safe, though, with only a bang on its
shoulder, as he threw it to its mammy. Poor
Captain would be glad of that, mum, would
not he, God bless him!" The great rough
carter puckered up his manly face, and turned
away to hide his tears. I turned to Miss
Jenkyns. She looked very ill, as if she were
going to faint, and signed to me to open the
window.

"Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go
to those girls. God pardon me if ever I have
spoken contemptuously to the Captain!"

Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out,
telling Miss Matilda to give the man a glass
of wine. While she was away, Miss Matey
and I huddled over the fire, talking in a low
and awestruck voice. I know we cried
quietly all the time.

Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood,
and we durst not ask her many questions.
She told us that Miss Jessie had fainted, and
that she and Miss Pole had had some difficulty
to bring her round; but that, as soon as she
recovered, she begged one of them to go and
sit with her sister.

"Dr. Colburn says she cannot live many
days, and she shall be spared this shock,"
said Miss Jessie, shivering with feelings to
which she dared not give way.

"But how can you manage, my dear?"
asked Miss Jenkyns; "you cannot bear up—
she must see your tears."

"God will help me—I will not give way—
she was asleep when the news came; she
may be asleep yet. She would be so utterly
miserable, not merely at my father's death,
but to think of what would become of me;
she is so good to me" She looked up earnestly
in their faces with her soft true eyes, and
Miss Pole told Miss Jenkyus afterwards she
could hardly bear it, knowing, as she did, how
Miss Brown treated her sister.

However, it was settled according to Miss
Jessie's wish. Miss Brown was to be told
her father had been summoned to take a short
journey on railway business. They had
managed it in some way—Miss Jenkyns could
not exactly say how. Miss Pole was to stop
with Miss Jessie. Mrs. Jamieson had sent to
inquire. And this was all we heard that
night; and a sorrowful night it was. The
next day a full account of the fatal accident
was in the country paper, which Miss
Jenkyns took in. Her eyes were very weak,
she said, and she asked me to read it. When
I came to "the gallant gentleman was deeply
engaged in the perusal of Hood's Poems,
which he had just received," Miss Jenkyns
shook her head long and solemnly, and
then sighed out, "Poor, dear, infatuated
man!"

The corpse was to be taken from the
station to the parish church, there to be
interred. Miss Jessie had set her heart on
following it to the grave; and no dissuasives
could alter her resolve. Her restraint upon
herself made her almost obstinate; she
resisted all Miss Pole's entreaties, and Miss
Jenkyns's advice. At last Miss Jenkyns gave
up the point; and after a silence, which I
feared portended some deep displeasure against
Miss Jessie, Miss Jenkyns said she should
accompany the latter to the funeral.

"It is not fit for you to go alone. It would
be against both propriety and humanity were
I to allow it."

Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half
like this arrangement ; but her obstinacy, if
she had any, had been exhausted in her
determination to go to the interment. She longed,
poor thing! I have no doubt, to cry alone
over the grave of the dear father, to whom
she had been all in all; and to give way, for
one little half-hour, uninterrupted by
sympathy, and unobserved by friendship. But it
was not to be. That afternoon Miss Jenkyns
sent out for a yard of black crape, and
employed herself busily in trimming the little
black silk bonnet I have spoken about. When
it was finished she put it on, and looked at us
for approbation—admiration she despised. I
was full of sorrow, but, by one of those
whimsical thoughts which come unbidden into
our heads, in times of deepest grief, I no
sooner saw the bonnet than I was reminded
of a helmet; and in that hybrid bonnet, half-
helmet, half-jockey cap, did Miss Jenkyns
attend Captain Brown's funeral; and I
believe supported Miss Jessie with a tender
indulgent firmness which was invaluable,
allowing her to weep her passionate fill before
they left.

Miss Pole, Miss Matey, and I, meanwhile,
attended to Miss Brown: and hard work we
found it to relieve her querulous and never-
ending complaints. But if we were so weary
and dispirited, what must Miss Jessie have
been! Yet she came back almost calm, as if she
had gained a new strength. She put off her
mourning dress, and came in, looking pale and
gentle; thanking us each with a soft long
pressure of the hand. She could even smile—
a faint, sweet, wintry smile, as if to reassure
us of her power to endure; but her look
made our eyes fill suddenly with tears, more
than if she had cried outright.

It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain
with her all the watching live-long night ;
and that Miss Matey and I were to return
in the morning to relieve them, and give
Miss Jessie the opportunity for a few hours
of sleep. But when the morning came, Miss
Jenkyns appeared at the breakfast table,
equipped in her helmet bonnet, and ordered
Miss Matey to stay at home, as she meant to
go and help to nurse. She was evidently in a
state of great friendly excitement, which she
showed by eating her breakfast standing, and
scolding the household all round.

No nursing—no energetic strong-minded
woman could help Miss Brown now. There
was that in the room as we entered, which