I went away, carrying the casket and the grapes. Jemima was packing my trunks when I went upstairs, and she shared the grapes and the delight of looking at the contents of the casket: Selina's thin gold chain, and her beautiful little French watch, two or three bracelets, some rings, brooches, and a smelling-bottle, encased in filigree gold. All these treasures were mine. At first I gazed at them with a mixed feeling, in which awe and sorrow held their share; Jemima the same: it seemed a profanation to rejoice over what had been so recently _hers:_ but the sorrow soon lost itself in the moment's seduction. Jemima hung the chain and watch round her own neck, put on all the bracelets, thrust the largest of the rings on her little finger, and figured off before the glass; while I knelt on a chair looking on in mute admiration, anticipating the time when they would be adorning me. Ah, my readers! when we indeed become of an age to wear ornaments, how poor is the pleasure they afford then, compared to that other early anticipation! A stern voice shouting out "Anne Hereford!" broke the charm, startling us excessively. Jemima tore off the ornaments, I jumped from the chair. "Anne, I want you," came the reiterated call. It was from Mr. Edwin Barley. He stood at the foot of the stairs as I ran down, my heart beating, expecting nothing but that the precious treasures were going to be wrested from me. Taking my hand, he led me into the dining-room, sat down, and held me before him. "Anne, you are a sensible little girl," he began, "and will understand what I say to you. The events, the tragedies which have happened in this house since you came to it, are not pleasant, they do not bring honour, either to the living or the dead. Were everything that occurred to be rigidly investigated, a large share of blame might be cast on my wife, your Aunt Selina. It is a reflection I would have striven to shield her from had she lived. I would doubly shield her now that she is dead. Will you do the same?" "Yes, sir; I should like to do so." "That is right. Henceforth, when strangers question you, you must know nothing. The better plan will be to be wholly silent. Remember, child, I urge this for Selina's sake. We know how innocent of deliberate wrong she was, but she was careless, and people might put a different construction on things. They might be capable of saying that she urged Heneage to revenge. You were present at that scene by the summer-house, from which Heneage ran off, and shot King. Do not ever speak of it." I think my breath went away from me in my consternation. How had Mr. Edwin Barley learnt that? It could only have been from Selina. "She sent me after Mr. Heneage, sir, to tell him to let Philip King alone—to command it in his mother's name."