attentions. When he died he left all he possessed absolutely to his
widow, who was not prepared to find how very little that all had become.
Mrs. Carteret took up the burden of the acres, dairy, gardens, and
stable, with a sense of sanctified duty none the less heroic in
sensation because she was doing all these things for her own profit. Her
neighbours held her in proportionate respect; and, as she had a fine
person, pleasant manners, and good connections, she kept, without the
aid of wealth, a comfortable corner in the society of the county.

It was not long after Colonel Carteret's death, and some thirteen years
before the death of Sir David Bright, that the immediate neighbourhood
became gradually conscious of the fact that Mrs. Carteret had adopted a
little niece, the child of a soldier brother who had died in India. This
child, from the first, made as little effect on her surroundings as it
was possible for a child to do. Molly Dexter was small, thin, and
sallow; her dark hair did not curl; and her grey eyes had a curious look
that is not common, yet not very rare, in childhood. It is the look of
one who waits for other circumstances and other people than those now
present. I know nothing so discouraging in a child friend--or rather in
a child acquaintance, for friendship is warned off by such eyes--as this
particular look. Mrs. Carteret took her niece cheerfully in hand,
commended the quiet of her ways, and gave credit to herself and open
windows for a perceptible increase in the covering of flesh on the
little bones, and a certain promise of firmness in the calves of the
small legs. As to the rest: "Of course it was difficult at first," she
said, "but now Molly is perfectly at home with me. Nurses never do
understand children, and Mary used to excite her until she had fits of
passion. But that is all past. She is quite a healthy and normal child
now."