“He must have been, and the young lady what got her husband and the beautiful place, too, by means of the death, seems mighty troubled, too. I s’pose he was a handsome little feller?” “Handsome!” cried Mrs. Posset. “I never saw his like, never. The most beautiful child you ever set eyes on.” “Fair, I s’pose? Most of the quality is fair.” “Not a bit of it. Dark as a raven, black hair, beautiful brown eyes, and such a complexion. And the manner with him and the loving words, and the way he’d fling his arms round my neck and say, ‘I love you, Posset. Posset, have you got a bit of cake for me?’ Oh, he was a darling little chap!” “He must have been,” said Mrs. Ives. “It’s afflictin’ to hear you, ma’am. Maybe you has got his picter? I’d like well to see it.” “I have got a lovely photograph, but I don’t show it to everybody.” “Well, then, ma’am, I won’t ask again, and I’m very much obliged for the nice food and thank you kindly. I sympathize with your grief. I has lost children of my own, and I know what it means.” “If you would really like to see the photograph,” began Mrs. Posset, “I don’t mind showing it to you, for you seem a feeling sort of body.” As she spoke she crossed the room, opened a chiffonier and took out a leather case. This she unfastened and laid before the little woman. Mrs. Ives dropped three or four curtseys in succession, her face turned white and her lips trembled. “I thank you, ma’am. It brings the tears to my eyes to see that little face,” she said. Then she made a hasty adieu and vanished. CHAPTER XXV. “THERE’S A CRUEL SIN SOMEWHERE.” On leaving the house Mrs. Ives walked quickly up the avenue. When she had gone nearly a mile she met one of the under-gardeners. He was weeding and cutting the edges of the road. As her wont was, Mrs. Ives dropped a curtsey right in front of him. “A’ternoon,” she said. The man looked at her and nodded in reply. “Fine day,” he said after a pause. “Yes, fine day,” said Mrs. Ives, “but you might speak to a body. In Cornwall they speaks to a body when a body curtseys. Isn’t that the manner with Devonshire folk?” “I don’t mean to be oncivil,” said the man. “Was there anything you wanted to ask, ma’am?” “I’d be obliged if you’d kindly direct me to the family vault,” said Mrs. Ives. “What in the name of fortune for?” “Curiosity, my young lad. If I has a failing it’s unbounded curiosity. I want to see the place where the little Sir Piers is lying till the trump of doom.” “Oh, if you really wish to see the family vault,” said the man resting on his spade as he spoke, “you just take that turn there to the left and you’ll find yourself alongside the chapel. There’s a lych gate and a graveyard all correct and proper. You go through the gate and you’ll see the vault in front of you.” “A big vault, I s’pose?” said Mrs. Ives. “Yes, a big square vault with a stone top. It’s mostly full by now.”