She scarcely spoke at all during this interview, but cried and gave him a look of hopeless yet affecting sorrow, which went direct to the old man’s heart. The little boy was disobedient, but that was nothing to be wondered at after a long sea-voyage and all that had happened; and as clever Verna thought, the terrible widow’s cap intended for old Mrs. Williamson at the post-office, gave the young widow worship in the eyes of all who beheld her. Verna won herself worship in quite a different way. She put on the most becoming hat she had, and strayed down in the evening to get a little air. The first evening she saw no one. The second, Mr. Fanshawe came out and walked with her round the lawn, where she had seen Marjory first. “How is Miss Heriot?” she asked, anxiously; “is she better? Was she so much devoted to her father? I am very, very sorry for her; but my poor Matty wants comfort too.” “Miss Heriot has been ill,” said Fanshawe. “She has had so much to bear--one shock after another.” “Yes; Charlie’s death,” said Verna, watching him with keen eyes, “and then Mr. Heriot’s--” “And her elder brother--so very short a time before.” “Her elder brother?” “I forgot. You left India before the news could have reached you. Three of them have been swept off one after another. Mr. Heriot died of grief; he never got over poor Tom’s death. The shock to Miss Heriot was not so much her father’s death, as her certainty that yesterday’s news would kill him. All this has affected her deeply. We had almost to force her to do nothing, to see nobody except ourselves--to allow herself to rest.” “You have a very deep interest in Miss Heriot?” Verna asked, hesitatingly. She did not even know his name. “Or perhaps--I beg your pardon, I am only a stranger--perhaps you are one of the family?” Fanshawe had started slightly; he had looked up at her with a sudden movement when she made that suggestion. It had brought the colour to his face. “I--take a deep interest in all the family,” he said. “No, I am not one of them. My name is Fanshawe. I was with poor Tom Heriot when he died. I am glad to be of use at this moment as far as I can.” “Oh, I beg your pardon. I did not mean to put embarrassing questions,” she said. “Please forgive me; I am quite a stranger. Poor Matty does not know much, never having been at home since she was married; and I know nothing at all. We did not know Mr. Tom Heriot was dead. What a terrible thing! father and two sons--all the sons--there are no more?” “No more--the whole family--except Miss Heriot and her little sister, and your sister’s boys--have been swept away.” Verna’s heart was beating wildly. She could scarcely contain the sudden flood of triumph that had poured into all her veins. At last she was going to be a great lady. Everything would be in her hands. Marry! why, what was marrying to this? But she restrained herself, to make assurance sure.