They had a posset every night until the funeral. They buried the ancient dame on Bryher. A boat carried the coffin across the water to the landing-place in New Grinsey Sound, behind which stands the little old church with its churchyard. Armorel and her household followed in one of the family boats, as in a mourning-carriage. All the people of Tresco and Bryher were present at the funeral; and most of them came across to Samson after the ceremony to drink a glass of wine and eat a slice of cake, the women no longer wailing and the men no longer shaking their heads. All the Roseveans who have escaped the vengeance of Mr. Fletcher's terrible bag lie in Bryher churchyard. They are mostly widows, poor things! They sleep alone, because their husbands' bones lie about among the tall weeds in the tranquil depths of the ocean. And Armorel, looking forward, thought with terror of the long, silent evenings, while the old serving-folk would sit round in the firelight, silent, or saying things that might as well have been left unsaid. CHAPTER XIII ARMOREL'S INHERITANCE 'You are now the mistress, dearie,' said Dorcas. 'It is time that you should learn what that means.' It was the morning after the funeral--the Day of Accession--the beginning of the new reign. 'Why, Dorcas, it makes no difference, does it? There are still the flowers and the house and everything.' 'Yes--there's everything.' The old woman nodded her head meaningly. 'Oh! yes--there is everything. Oh! you don't know--you don't suspect--nobody knows--what a surprise is in store for you!' 'What surprise, Dorcas?' 'You've never been into her room except to see her lying dead. It's your room now. You can go in whenever you like. Always the master or the mistress has slept in that room. When her father-in-law died she took the room. And she's slept in it ever since. And no one, except me and Chessun to clean up and sweep and dust, has ever been in that room since. And now it's yours.' 'Well, Dorcas, it may be mine; but I shall go on sleeping in my own room.' 'Then keep it locked--keep it locked up--day and night. There's nobody in Samson to dread--but keep it locked! As for sleeping in it, time enough, perhaps, when you come to marry. But keep it locked----' 'Why, Dorcas, what is in it?' 'I am seventy-five years old and past,' Dorcas went on. 'I was fifteen when I came to the house, and here I've been ever since. Not one of the grandchildren nor the great-grandchildren ever came in here. No one ever knew what is kept here.' 'What is it, then?' Armorel asked again. 'She used to come here alone, by daylight, regularly once a month. She locked the door when she came in. No one ever knew what she was doing, and no one ever asked. One day she forgot to lock the door, and by accident I opened it, and saw what she was doing.' 'What was she doing?'