his bosom; but he felt dreary, for he saw no love-firmament over him;
the cloud of death hid it.

With a sudden jingle and rattle, up drove a rickety post-chaise to the
door of the parsonage. Out of it, and into the kitchen, came stalking
a tall middle-aged woman, in a long black cloak, black bonnet, and
black gloves, with a face at once stern and peevish.

"I am the late Mrs. Porson's sister," she said, and stood.

Sarah courtesied and waited. Clare rose, with Mary in his arms.

"This is little Maly, ma'am," he said, offering her the child.

"Set her down, and let me see her," she answered.

Clare obeyed. Mary put her finger in her mouth, and began to cry. She
did not like the look of the black aunt, and was not used to a harsh
voice.

"Tut! tut!" said the black aunt. "Crying already! That will never do!
Show me her things."

Sarah felt stunned. This was worse than death! "If only the mistress
had taken them with her!" she said to herself.

Mary's things--they were not many--were soon packed. Within an hour
she was borne off, shrieking, struggling, and calling Clay. The black
aunt, however,--as the black aunt Clare always thought of her--cared
nothing for her resistance; and Clare, who at her first cry was