When Lord Frogmore died his wife behaved like a woman whose sanity was completely restored. The mad doctor, who had proved himself both wise and kind in his unexpected attendance at this deathbed, watched her with the most anxious care, but with great relief. She understood the blow that had fallen upon her, and her grief was great and natural, but self-controlled. She burst forth into no ravings, nor did she show any want of comprehension. She allowed herself to be taken away when all was over, and yielded to the directions of her physician with the old gentle docility. After an hour or two of quiet weeping she fell asleep with her hand in her sister’s hand--a gentle woman stricken with deep loss, but very patient, giving no trouble, just what Mary would have been in other circumstances. Agnes Hill sat by her for hours, feeling as if in a sanctuary, while she listened to her sister’s calm breathing and saw the soft tears steal from under her eyelids--a sanctuary of peaceful sorrow, of patience, not rebellious, not excessive, least of all mad. Agnes sat and cried with an ache in her breast which Mary did not know. The boy! What was to happen to the boy? When Mary woke again, when she came out again into ordinary life, and if the amendment continued and her sanity was recognized, could it be that she would still ignore the boy? CHAPTER XXVI. “There is no will but the early one made soon after the marriage,” said Lord Frogmore’s man of business on the morning of the second day. “No guardians appointed, no directions given. I have said as much as I could from time to time on this subject. Lord Frogmore always agreed but did nothing; and now here we have a long minority to face and nothing in order.” He was speaking in the most confidential circle of the family, addressing the old vicar, who had been summoned with his wife to the double crisis, the death of their son-in-law, the recovery of their daughter. Old Mr. Hill was standing up with his back to the fire, looking like a very solemn old sheep with his white beard. He had always the air of bearing the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, and mumbled a little in his speech, half with nervousness, half with that weight of responsibility that bowed him down. “It is a very great emergency,” said the vicar. “Frogmore was very imprudent for a man of his time of life. He ought to have had it all made out very clear. He ought to have left nothing in any doubt. I have often said to him myself in my own small affairs----” It was wrong of Mrs. Hill to interrupt, but she had a bad habit of doing this; her husband spoke so slowly. “Now that my daughter is so well again,” she said, with a voice in which there was a quiver in spite of herself, “it can’t matter so much.” “Oh, mother!” cried Agnes. The man of business shook his head. “That is just the worst difficulty of all. If Lady Frogmore insists on this strange fancy of hers that the little lord is not her son--that she has no child----”