Not another thought, except of old Mother Tipperton, entered her mind; not the faintest suspicion that the bell was tolling for one younger and fairer. She went on, over the broad winding way through the beautiful park, and gained the door of Alnwick Hall. It might have struck her--but it did not--that besides the man who opened the door to her, other servants came peeping into the hall, as if in curiosity as to the visitor. She stepped over the threshold out of the gloomy night. "How is your mistress, Haines? Going on all right?" she asked, rubbing her shoes on the mat. "Oh, ma'am, she's dead!" Mrs. Darling certainly heard the words, but they appeared not to penetrate her senses. She stared at the speaker. "She is just dead, ma'am; not an hour ago. Two physicians were had to her, besides Mr. Pym, but nothing could be done." Down sat Mrs. Darling on the hall bench. Perhaps only once before, in her whole life, had she been so seized with consternation. "_Dead!_ Good Heavens! I came to sit half-an-hour with her before leaving Alnwick, for I may not be back for months. What an awful thing! Poor Caroline Carleton!" Drawing her cloak around her, Mrs. Darling crossed the hall towards the housekeeper's room, unconsciously calling the deceased by her maiden name, the one she had longest known her by. "I should like to see the nurse," she said, "if she can spare a moment to come to me." The housekeeper, a stout, very respectable woman, who had come to the hall a year ago with its now dead mistress, was at the table writing a note as well as she could for her tears, when Mrs. Darling entered. Laying down her pen, she told all she knew of the calamity, in reply to the low and eager questions. But Mrs. Darling grew impatient. "A fine beautiful baby, you say--never mind the baby, Mrs. Tritton. What can have caused the death?" The stout old lady shook her head. "She died from exhaustion, they say, ma'am. But she had a fall a few days ago, and I believe that had something to do with it. I can't bear to _think_ of it just yet. Alive and well and merry but a day or two since; and now dead! It seems like a dream." Her sobs deepened. The ready tears filled Mrs. Darling's eyes. She wiped them away, and inquired what would be done about bringing up the child. Mrs. Darling was a practical woman, and had never allowed feeling to interfere with business. "That's the first great care," was the reply of the housekeeper. "Mr. Pym does not know of any one just now that could come in. I suppose it will have to be brought up by hand: and the master, I believe, wishes that it should be. As Mr. Pym says, the boy's so big and strong, that he'd bring himself up almost, if you put him outside the street-door. And it's true." "Does Mr. St. John take it much to heart?"