"Is your father living?" I asked.

"Alas! no; he died when I was a child. There had been some quarrel
between my mother and Sir Barnard; perhaps he never forgave her for
marrying a Frenchman. During her lifetime he never wrote to her or took
the least notice of me."

"And then offered you his home?"

"Then he adopted me," she said, looking earnestly at me; "treated me in
every way as his own child. I have been with him ever since. I have no
home except here at Crown Anstey, and I had not a sou in the world
except what he gave me. Ah! I miss him so sorely."

A cloud came over her beautiful face, and her lips quivered. I sat down
in sore perplexity with my inheritance. I had not certainly expected
this. What was I to say to her--this beautiful and radiant woman, who
seemed thrown upon my hands like a child? There was silence between us
for some time, then she said, suddenly:

"How sad this is about poor Sir Barnard and his son, is it not? I
thought at first that I should never recover from the shock. Miles was a
very handsome man; so clever and full of spirits. I am told," she
continued, "that the bodies are to be brought home to-night. Is it true,
Sir Edgar?"

"I believe so. I am here to receive them and to preside at the funeral."

Her face grew a shade paler.