He--he was my brother, my dear, which made it harder;
but he made a good end. I will tell you his story another time. He took
away our great crucifix and our jewelled cope that old Mr. Wickham used
to wear on the Great Festivals; and left us. He turned me out, too; and
another who asked to go, but I went back for a while. And then, my dear,
although we offered everything; our cows and our orchard and our hens,
and all we had, you know how it ended; and one morning in May old Mr.
Wickham said mass for us quite early, before the sun was risen, for the
last time; and,--and he cried, my dear, at the elevation; and--and we
were all crying too I think, and we all received communion together for
the last time--and,--and, then we all went away, leaving just old Dame
Agnes to keep the house until the Commissioner came. And oh, my dear, I
don't think the house ever looked so dear as it did that morning, just as
the sun rose over the roofs, and we were passing out through the meadow
door where we had sat so often, to where the horses were waiting to take
us away."
Miss Corbet's own eyes were full of tears as the old lady finished: and
she put out her white slender hand, which Mistress Torridon took and
stroked for a moment.
"Well," she said, "I haven't talked like this for a long while; but I
knew you would understand. My dear, I have watched you while you have
been here this time."
Mary Corbet smiled a little uneasily.
"And you have found me out?" she answered smiling.
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