cousin Frank she did not know; she believed
Herbert. I could not help watching her
with some curiosity: she appeared an
animated creature, and had great success with
buyers of fancy things, especially with the
gentlemen. Lady Mary wished several times
that we had her to help us, and she had to
scold me more than once for not pushing and
pressing as she did. For the last day we
hired one of the German girls from the Berlin-
wool shop, and then we managed much
better.

Mr. Herbert Clay was to and fro in the
room often during the three days: he came
to his mother's stall, and talked to that pretty
Miss Hargrave for a long while one afternoon
towards the hour for closing, and waited
to take her away. I heard her whisper,
"Stop for me, Herbert;" so he sat down on
a chair with his back to us, and stayed till
she was ready to go. He bowed to Lady
Mary in passing, but I don't think he saw
me, for I was behind the drapery that divides
our stalls. He looks several years older and
better than he used to do, for he has lost the
boyish air he had. Lady Mary said he was
a fine young fellow, and that since he brought
the strike to that happy ending he was very
highly thought of in the county. Some one
wished him to stand for Stockbridge at the
last election, but he declined: his father's
health is failing, and he must supply his
place in the business. I was not introduced
to Miss Hargrave, and Emily, in all her
conversations, never alluded to her. On the
closing day of the bazaar, Mrs. Clay condescended
to acknowledge me with a bow: she
must have seen me before, but our eyes never
met, and neither could possibly feel disposed
to make any advance to the other. She is
become very grey, and begins to look quite
the old woman, but the tyrannical, domineering
spirit is not dead in her.

Miss Thoroton, Miss Smallwood,
Mademoiselle, and all the young ladies paid our
stall a visit, and poor Miss Thoroton observed
that it was the proudest day of her life in
which she learnt that she had had the training
of the heiress of Ferndell; then she
pretended to scold me for the reticence that had
kept it a secret all the while I was at school,
and ended by inviting me to renew
Stockbridge reminiscences by going to dine with
her. I could not accept then, but I promised
to go some day next week, and hear all her
gossip about my former companions—perhaps
she will be able to tell me something about
Miss Alice.

August the twenty-fourth.—Oh, I was
sadly shocked yesterday! It was one of the
furthest things from my thoughts that Alice
should be dead, and I have been all along
reproaching her for never writing to me. So
quietly as Miss Thoroton told it, too—so
unfeelingly.

I said, as she was talking on and on about
one girl and another, for whom I never cared,
"But can you tell me what has become of
Miss Alice?" and she replied, "My dear,
did you not know? She has been dead these
two years, and more! When was it Miss
Smallwood—in March or April?"

"I believe it was in August," said Miss
Smallwood.

I was so painfully struck, that for several
minutes I could not speak at all, and Miss
Thoroton went on:—

"We heard of her death by the merest
chance: it was in this way. When she left
us, I could not reconcile it with my conscience
either to find her a situation or recommend
her to any family (her conduct had been so
very insubordinate while with us), but she
obtained, by her own arts (she was a talented
girl, and there were those who liked her), a
situation in a clergyman's house, as governess
to two children. She was with them eighteen
months, and they conceived a true respect
for her, and if she had stayed with them she
might, in time, have quite redeemed herself,
but there was some love affair, some
disappointment which affected her mind for awhile.
When she recovered she was possessed with
a desire to travel on the continent, and
engaged herself as companion to a lady going
thither. This lady fell ill of an infectious
fever at Brussels, and it was in nursing her
Miss Alice contracted the disease of which
she died there. Who was it told us the whole
story, Miss Smallwood—was it not the Drakes
when they came from their wedding tour?"

Miss Smallwood thought it was tke
Drakes.

"It could not have been anyone else—they
were in Brussels at the time. It seemed that
Mrs. Hardfast was just recovered when Miss
Alice fell sick, and she left her alone at the
hotel where they had been staying, and
almost without money—a very inconsiderate,
and, I may say, cruel act—however, Miss
Alice sank rapidly, and died there. Who
buried her, Miss Smallwood, do you
recollect?"

"It was a charitable English gentleman,
the Drakes said, but I cannot call to mind
his name. Was it a Sir Edward Singleton—
I really believe it was? I know it was a
baronet, a wild young fellow who was staying
at the inn, and who had been struck by her
pretty face—yes, he paid for her funeral, and
I must say that his heart was in the right
place, wherever his wits might be."

And the two passed their comments on
other circumstances which now revived in
their minds without an atom of commiseration,
till the tears began to drop from my
eyes at the remembrance of how good she
was to me.

Miss Thoroton expressed surprise at my
feeling the news so deeply, and said, by way
of consolation, "My dear Miss Eleanor, it
was a mercy she was taken: she had such an
intolerable spirit that she never could have
done any good in the world!"