And at last Madeline was alone. But how could she kneel on the turf and press her lips to the cold marble and drop her bitter tears over her lost darling with other eyes upon her? How could she tell that the windows in yonder rectory did not overlook every corner and every grave? She laid the lilies on the turf, and stood at the foot of the new little mound for half an hour, kissed the name upon the cross, gathered a few blades of grass, and then went away. The Miss Dancers, who had a fair share of their mother Eve’s curiosity, had been vainly laying their heads together to discover what had brought Miss West to Monk’s Norton church; and over the tea-table they had been telling their aunt and uncle what a very important personage Miss West was in the eyes of society--how wealthy, how run after, how beautiful, and what a catch she would be for some young man if she could be caught! But she was so difficult to please. She was so cold; she froze her admirers if they ever got further than asking for dances. “All heiresses are said to be handsome, no matter what their looks. She is no beauty, poor thing! She looks as if she is dying. How can any one admire lantern jaws, sunken eyes, and a pale face? Give me round rosy cheeks.” And the rector glanced significantly at his two nieces, who were not slow to accept the compliment. “Oh, aunty, she is shockingly changed since I saw her last,” said Laura. “She really _was_ pretty; every one said so--even other women. She had an immense reputation as a beauty; and when she came into a ballroom nobody else was looked at.” “Well, my lasses,” said the rector, rising and brushing the crumbs of cake from his knees, “the world’s idea of beauty must have altered _very_ much since I was a young man; or else your friend has altered greatly. Believe _me_, she would not be looked at _now_.” So saying, he went off to his study, presumably to write his Sunday sermon--perhaps to read the newspaper. His nieces put on their hats again, and went out and had a game of tennis. Tennis between sisters is a little slow; and after a time Laura said-- “Look here, Dolly, supposing we go up to the churchyard and see where she has left those flowers. There would be no harm in that, would there?” Her sister warmly agreed to the suggestion, and the two set forth on their quest with eager alacrity. They discovered the object of their walk without any difficulty; for the lovely white lilies were quite a prominent object on the green turf. Miss West had laid them upon the new grave--the child’s grave. How strange! CHAPTER XL. A FORLORN HOPE. The hurried expedition to the Holt Farm, and subsequent visit to Monk’s Norton, had not agreed with Miss West. She had a most mysterious relapse, inexplicable alike to her father and her medical adviser.