but her obstinacy, if she had any, had been exhausted in her
determination to go to the interment. She longed, poor thing, I
have no doubt, to cry alone over the grave of the dear father to
whom she had been all in all, and to give way, for one little half-
hour, uninterrupted by sympathy and unobserved by friendship. But
it was not to be. That afternoon Miss Jenkyns sent out for a yard
of black crape, and employed herself busily in trimming the little
black silk bonnet I have spoken about. When it was finished she
put it on, and looked at us for approbation--admiration she
despised. I was full of sorrow, but, by one of those whimsical
thoughts which come unbidden into our heads, in times of deepest
grief, I no sooner saw the bonnet than I was reminded of a helmet;
and in that hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half jockey-cap, did Miss
Jenkyns attend Captain Brown's funeral, and, I believe, supported
Miss Jessie with a tender, indulgent firmness which was invaluable,
allowing her to weep her passionate fill before they left.

Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile attended to Miss Brown:
and hard work we found it to relieve her querulous and never-ending
complaints. But if we were so weary and dispirited, what must Miss
Jessie have been! Yet she came back almost calm as if she had
gained a new strength. She put off her mourning dress, and came
in, looking pale and gentle, thanking us each with a soft long
pressure of the hand. She could even smile--a faint, sweet, wintry
smile--as if to reassure us of her power to endure; but her look
made our eyes fill suddenly with tears, more than if she had cried
outright.

It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her all the
watching livelong night; and that Miss Matty and I were to return