Life at Broome reverted to its old monotonous groove after the death of Miss Letitia. At the funeral it was noticed by the few people who attended it that Miss Pengarvon never once lifted to her eyes the handkerchief which she carried in her hand, but her face was hidden by a thick crape veil, and no one could tell how far she might be otherwise affected. It is not the custom among families of the social rank of the Pengarvons for the female members to be present at the celebration of funeral obsequies, but Miss Barbara had always been a law unto herself, and that which she willed to do, she did. In the present instance, indeed, had she not chosen to follow the remains of her sister, there would have been no one to do so save the doctor who had attended her in her last illness, and the family solicitor, with--at a respectful distance and on foot--Barney Dale and his wife, who were mourners in the truest sense of the word. As soon as Miss Pengarvon got back from the funeral, she shut herself up in the Green Parlor, and resumed her needle as if nothing had happened, and sat at work till far into the night, as though she were desirous of making up for lost time. But from that day forward her sister's empty chair was always placed over against her own on the opposite side of the little oval worktable, just as when Miss Letitia was alive; and as the autumn nights deepened into winter, Barney would sometimes hear his mistress talking aloud, as though there was someone with her in the room. She would ask questions, the answers to which were audible to no one but herself, or answer others which no one but herself had heard put. Sometimes it seemed to be Miss Letitia who was there with her, sometimes poor, lost Isabel, at others, that fine gentleman, Sir Jasper. "It's all very uncanny, and I don't ken what to make of it," Barney would sometimes remark to his wife, with a slow, ruminating shake of the head--and uncanny indeed it was.