I wanted to see her again. It was almost as if I had _not_ seen her in the morning, for the shock of surprise had startled away my senses. I had looked upon mamma so many times after death, that the customary dread of childhood at such sights lingered but little with me. And I began to watch for an opportunity to go in. It came at twilight. In passing the room I saw the door open, and supposed some of the maids might be there. In I went bravely; and passed round to the far side of the bed, nearest to the window and the fading light. But I had not courage to draw aside the curtain quite at first, and sat down for a moment in the low chair by the bed's head, to wait until courage came. Some one else came first; and that was Mr. Edwin Barley. He walked slowly in, carrying a candle, startling me nearly to sickness. His slippers were light, and I had not heard his approach. It must have been he who had left the door open, probably having been to fetch the very candle in his hand. He did not come near the bed, at least on the side where I was, but seemed to be searching for something; looking about, opening two or three drawers. I sat cowering, feeling I had no business to be there; my heart was in my mouth, when he went to the door and called Charlotte Delves. "Where are my wife's keys?" he inquired, as she came up. "I do not know," was her answer; and she began to look about the room as he had previously done. "They must be somewhere." "Not know! But it was your place to take possession of them, Charlotte. I want to examine her desk; there may be directions left in it, for all I can tell." "I really forgot all about the keys," Charlotte Delves deprecatingly said. "I will ask the women who were here. Why! here they are; in this china basket on the mantelpiece," she suddenly exclaimed. "I knew they could not be far-off." Mr. Edwin Barley took the keys, and went out, the desk under his arm. Charlotte followed him, and closed the door. But I was too much scared to attempt to remain; I softly opened it, and stole out after them, waiting against the wall in the shade. They had halted at the turning to Mr. Barley's study, half way down the stairs, and were talking in subdued tones. Charlotte Delves was telling him of the lawyer's visit on the previous day. "I did not mention it before," she observed: "of course, while poor Mrs. Edwin was here, it was not my business to report to you on anything she might do, and to-day has had too much trouble in it. But there's no doubt that Gregg was here, and a clerk with him. Little Miss Hereford showed them out, and I suppose admitted them. It was an odd time to choose for the visit—the hour of the funeral." Can you imagine how terrified I felt as Charlotte Delves related this? I had done no wrong; I had simply obeyed the orders of Mrs. Edwin Barley; but it was uncertain what amount of blame her husband might lay to my share, and how he would punish it.