Hannah sighed deeply, and wondered silently how it was that neither Dinah nor Jovial had ever once suspected their young master to be the man. Old Dinah perceived that her conversation distressed Hannah, and so she threw off her bonnet and cloak and set herself to work to help the poor bereaved sister. There was enough to occupy both women. There was the dead mother to be prepared for burial, and there was the living child to be cared far. By the time that they had laid Nora out in her only white dress, and had fed the babe and put it to sleep, and cleaned up the cottage, the winter day had drawn to its close and the room was growing dark. Old Dinah, thinking it was time to light up, took a home-dipped candle from the cupboard, and seeing a piece of soiled paper on the table, actually lighted her candle with a check for five thousand dollars! And thus it happened that the poor boy who, without any fault of his mother, had come into the world with a stigma on his birth, now, without any neglect of his father, was left in a state of complete destitution as well as of entire orphanage. On the Tuesday following her death poor Nora Worth was laid in her humble grave under a spreading oak behind the hut. This spot was selected by Hannah, who wished to keep her sister's last resting-place always in her sight, and who insisted that every foot of God's earth, enclosed or unenclosed--consecrated or unconsecrated--was holy ground. Jim Morris, Professor of Odd Jobs for the country side, made the coffin, dug the grave, and managed the funeral. The Rev. William Wynne, the minister who had performed the fatal nuptial ceremony of the fair bride, read the funeral services over her dead body. No one was present at the burial but Hannah Worth, Reuben Gray, the two old negroes, Dinah and Jovial, the Professor of Odd Jobs, and the officiating clergyman. CHAPTER XIV. OVER NORA'S GRAVE. Oh, Mother Earth! upon thy lap, Thy weary ones receiving, And o'er them, silent as a dream, Thy grassy mantle weaving, Fold softly, in thy long embrace, That heart so worn and broken, And cool its pulse of fire beneath Thy shadows old and oaken. Shut out from her the bitter word, And serpent hiss of scorning: Nor let the storms of yesterday Disturb her quiet morning. --_Whittier_. When the funeral ceremonies were over and the mourners were coming away from the grave, Mr. Wynne turned to them and said: "Friends, I wish to have some conversation with Hannah Worth, if you will excuse me." And the humble group, with the exception of Reuben Gray, took leave of Hannah and dispersed to their several homes. Reuben waited outside for the end of the parson's interview with his betrothed. "This is a great trial to you, my poor girl; may the Lord support you under it!" said Mr. Wynne, as they entered the hut and sat down. Hannah sobbed. "I suppose it was the discovery of Mr. Brudenell's first marriage that killed her?"