make her promise not to speak about all this
to any one. She said, "I could not—no ! not
even to Aunt Annabella." And to this day
she never has named it again, not even to
me; but she tried to make herself more
patient, and more silently helpful in the
strange household among whom she was
cast.

By and bye. Miss Morton grew pale and
grey, and worn, amid all her stiffness. Mrs.
Turner whispered to us that for all her
stern, unmoved looks, she was ill unto death;
that she had been secretly to see the great
doctor at Drumble; and he had told her she
must set her house in order. Not even her
sisters knew this; but it preyed upon Mrs.
Turner's mind and she told us. Long after
this, she kept up her week of discipline with
Miss Cordelia; and walked in her straight,
soldier-like way about the village, scolding
people for having too large families, and burning
too much coal, and eating too much butter.
One morning she sent Mrs. Turner for her
sisters; and while she was away, she
rumaged out an old locket made of the four
Miss Mortons' hair when they were all
children; and, threading the eye of the locket
with a piece of brown ribbon, she tied it
round Cordelia's neck, and kissing her, told
her she had been a good girl, and had cured
herself of stooping; that she must fear God
and honour the King; and that now she
might go and have a holiday. Even while
the child looked at her in wonder at the
unusual tenderness with which this was said,
a grim spasm passed over her face, and
Cordelia ran in affright to call Mrs. Turner.
But when she came, and the other two sisters
came, she was quite herself again. She had
her sisters in her room alone when she wished
them goodbye; so no one knows what she
said, or how she told them (who were thinking
of her as in health) that the signs of near-
approaching death, which the doctor had
foretold, were upon her. One thing they
both agreed in saying—and it was much that
Miss Dorothy agreed in anything—that she
bequeathed her sitting room, up the two
steps, to Miss Annabella as being next in age.
Then they left her room crying, and went
both together into Miss Annabella's room,
sitting hand in hand, (for the first time since
childhood I should think,) listening for the
sound of the little hand-bell, which was to be
placed close by her, in case, in her agony, she
required Mrs. Turner's presence. But it
never rang. Noon became twilight. Miss
Cordelia stole in from the garden with its
long, black, green shadows, and strange eerie
sounds of the night wind through the trees,
and crept to the kitchen fire. At last,
Mrs. Turner knocked at Miss Morton's door,
and hearing no reply, went in and found her
cold and dead in her chair.

I suppose that sometime or other we had
told them of the funeral the old Squire had;
Miss Phillis's father, I mean. He had had a
procession of tenantry half-a-mile long to follow
him to the grave. Miss Dorothy sent for me
to tell her what tenantry of her brother's
could follow Miss Morton's coffin; but what
with people working in mills, and land having
passed away from the family, we could but
muster up twenty people, men and women
and all; and one or two were dirty enough
to be paid for their loss of time.

Poor Miss Annabella did not wish to go
into the room up two steps; nor yet dared
she stay behind; for Miss Dorothy, in a kind
of spite for not having had it bequeathed to
her, kept telling Miss Annabella it was her
duty to occupy it; that it was Miss Sophronia's
dying wish, and that she should not
wonder if Miss Sophronia were to haunt Miss
Annabella, if she did not leave her warm
room, full of ease and sweet scent, for the
grim north-east chamber. We told Mrs.
Turner we were afraid Miss Dorothy would
lord it sadly over Miss Annabella, and she
only shook her head; which, from so talkative
a woman, meant a great deal. But, just as
Miss Cordelia had begun to droop the General
came home, without any one knowing he was
coming. Sharp and sudden was the word
with him. He sent Miss Cordelia off to
school; but not before she had had time to
tell us that she loved her uncle dearly, in
spite of his quick hasty ways. He carried
his sisters off to Cheltenham; and it was
astonishing how young they made themselves
look before they came back again. He was
always here, there, and everywhere; and
very civil to us into the bargain; leaving the
key of the Hall with us whenever they went
from home. Miss Dorothy was afraid of him,
which was a blessing, for it kept her in order;
and really I was rather sorry when she died,
and, as for Miss Annabella, she fretted after
her till she injured her health, and Miss
Cordelia had to leave school to come and keep
her company. Miss Cordelia was not pretty;
she had too sad and grave a look for that;
but she had winning ways, and was to have
her uncle's fortune some day, so I expected
to hear of her being soon snapt up. But the
General said her husband was to take the
name of Morton; and what did my young
lady do but begin to care for one of the great
mill owners at Drumble, as if there were not
all the lords and commons to choose from
besides? Mrs. Turner was dead; and there
was no one to tell us about it; but I could
see Miss Cordelia growing thinner and paler
every time they came back to Morton Hall;
and I longed to tell her to pluck up a spirit,
and be above a cotton-spinner. One day,
not half a year before the General's death,
she came to see us, and told us, blushing
like a rose, that her uncle had given his
consent; and so, although "he" had refused
to take the name of Morton, and had wanted
to marry her without a penny, and without
her uncle's leave, it had all come right at
last, and they were to be married at once;