“Of course, I mean to do that—only tell me what they are.” “She must be buried from my house.” “Well, that can be done.” “But she must be brought there unseen, if possible.” “Nothing easier. You want everything of the best, no doubt?” “Yes.” “Well, have your crape handy; I’ll take care of the rest. When all is ready, I’ll call up. Say nothing about it till then, please; just leave the servants to me. Say as little as you can, and don’t let them know anything till I come, which will be about dark.” “Thank you,” said Mrs. Judson, forgetting her pride in a strong sense of relief. “I shall depend on you.” “Dear me, how a little trouble takes the starch out of a woman like that! Last night she wanted to sweep by me like a peacock; now, now it’s all whiteness and swan’s down; never mind, I rather like her, any way.” Saying this, Jane locked the side-gate and walked leisurely back to the hospital. A little after dusk that evening Jane Kelly called decorously, and inquired for Mrs. Judson of a supercilious footman, who would have questioned her right to see that lady, but for the timely interposition of the girl, Ellen. As it was, Ellen admitted her at once to Mrs. Judson’s bedroom, where she remained a full hour. When she came down-stairs, Ellen, was ready to intercept her, and they went together into the servants’ parlor, where Jane dropped at once into a most confidential conversation. “You see, Ellen, it was about that very young lady that I came. A friend of mine lives at the boarding-school where Mrs. Judson put her before she went to the springs.” “The boarding-school! dear me, was that so? Why, not a servant in the house knew a word about it; then it was not a detective she called in?” “Not a bit of it; that was the madam’s real-estate agent.” “You don’t say so! But why was it kept close where the young lady went to school?” “Close! why it wasn’t kept close at all. Of course, she could not come home when the house was as good as closed.” “That’s true; but where is she now?” “Ellen, I am going to tell you something mournful. It was that I came to tell Mrs. Judson last night, but you must not let the other servants know. Miss Louisa is dead.” “Dead! and you talked as if you had never seen her, last night. Dear me, dead!” “Yes, sudden—cholera—taken down and died before help could come. The poor lady up-stairs is dreadfully cut up.” “Dear me, how dreadful!” “But above all things, don’t hint to the servants that she died of cholera; the funeral will have to be from the house, you know, and the neighbors might get frightened.” “Oh! I wouldn’t for the world,” protested Ellen,—“not for the world.” “Now, not a word of this to any one in the house,” Jane went on impressively, “your lady would not like to have the boarding-school spoken of.” “But what school was it?”