Old Hewitt laughed a low, long laugh. His mental processes were slow, and the sight of the Softy with his daughter had startled him much; for notwithstanding all that had been said on this subject he had not believed in it seriously. Now, however, that it dawned upon him what had really happened, that his child, his daughter, was actually Mrs. Gervase Piercey, a slow sensation of pride and victory arose in his bosom too. His girl to be Lady Piercey in her time, and drive in a grand carriage, and live in a grand house! The Hewitts were a fine old family, but they had never kept their carriage and pair. A one-horse shay had been the utmost length to which they had gone. Now Patty--Patty, the child! who had always done his accounts and kept his customers in order--Patty, his own girl, was destined to the glory of riding behind two horses and being called “my lady.” The thought made him burst into a long, rumbling subterraneous laugh. Our Patty! it did not seem possible that it could be true. “That reminds me,” he said a moment after, turning suddenly grave. He called his daughter apart, beckoning with his finger. Gervase by this time was lolling half out of the open window, delightedly counting the vehicles in sight. “Farmer Golightly’s tax cart, and Jim Mason’s big waggon, and the parson’s pony chaise, and a fly up from the station,” he cried: “it’s livelier than London. Patty, Patty, come and look here.” Gervase turned round, and saw his wife and her father with grave faces consulting together, and relapsed into absolute quiet, effacing himself behind the fluttering curtains with the intention of stealing out of the room as soon as he could and getting away. His mother’s threat about drawing the beer haunted him. Could not she, who could do most things, make that threat come true? “Patty,” said old Hewitt, “you’ve done it, and you can’t undo it; but there’ll be ever such a rumpus up _there_.” “Of course, I know that,” she said calmly; “I’m ready for them. Let them try all they can, there’s nothing they can do.” “Patty,” said the old innkeeper again, “I’ve something to tell you as you ain’t a-thinking of. About ’Er,” he said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. “What about her? I know she’s my enemy; but you needn’t be frightened, father. I’ve seen to everything, and there’s nothing she can do.” “It ain’t that as I want you to think of. It’s more dreadful than that. It’s ‘in the midst of life as we are in death,’” said Hewitt. “That sort of thing; and they’ve been a-’unting for _’im_ far and wide.” “Lord, father, what do you mean?” Patty caught at a confused idea of Sir Giles’ death, and her heart began to thump against her breast. Hewitt pointed with his thumb, jerking it again and again over his shoulder. “She’s--she’s--dead,” he said. “Dead!” said Patty, with a shriek, “who’s dead?”