Nor did she return as she had promised, for exposure to the damp night air brought on a severe cold, which confined her to her room, where, on the day of the funeral, she sat looking wistfully in the direction of the cottage, where the hearse was standing before the gate, just as it stood that other day when hers was the only heart which ached for the burden it took away. It was the Schuyler carriage which took Gertie and Norah to the grave, and Edith blessed her husband for this kindness to the girl who was so much to her, and for his thoughtfulness in requesting his daughters and their governess to attend the funeral. He did it for her sake, she knew, and Julia knew so, too, and in Edith’s hearing made some remarks about “the new element which was dragging her father down.” As yet she did not know that Gertie was coming to the Hill to live. Neither did any one, except Mrs. Tiffe, for Edith thought best not to speak of it during the two or three days when Norah remained at the cottage looking over her cousin’s effects, packing away her things, and separating them from Gertie’s. In a small tin box, which fastened with a spring, they found several business-like documents, some yellow with age, some fresher-looking, and among them the papers relating to Gertie’s “forty pounds.” These Norah kept to give to Colonel Schuyler; then carelessly glancing at a few of the others, and finding them mostly receipts and papers relating to the bank, now good for nothing, she proposed to Gertie that they burn them. But Gertie said, “No, I may want to look at them some time;” so they were again placed back in the box, which was put away in Gertie’s trunk and the house was set to rights, and the room which Robert Macpherson still kept for his studio when he was in Hampstead was left just as it was, with “_La Sœur_” removed to its old place on the easel, and at the close of the third day Norah locked the doors, and, with Gertie, passed out into the street, leaving tenantless the cottage for which Godfrey had never taken rent since Mrs. Rogers occupied it. CHAPTER XXXV. GERTIE AT THE HILL. It was known now, from Mrs. Tiffe, the housekeeper, down to Jennie, the scullion, that Gertie Westbrooke was to be an inmate of the household, but no one seemed to care particularly, unless it were Kitty, the laundress, who groaned over the extra washing, but consoled herself that the girl would not probably “wear as many frillicks and puffs as the young ladies did.” With regard in her exact position in the family the servants were at first in doubt, but guessed she was to be either second waiting-maid to their mistress or nurse to the baby, but of this opinion Edith, who overheard their conjectures, disabused them at once. “Miss Westbrooke is _not_ coming here as waitress or nurse,” she said. “She comes as a young lady of the house, and as such you will treat her with deference and respect.”