While they consult, let us look for a moment at Lady Isabel.  She sat alone, in great perplexity, indulging the deepest grief.  Lord Mount Severn had intimated to her, kindly and affectionately, that henceforth she must find her home with him and his wife.  Isabel returned a faint “Thank you” and as soon as he left her, burst into a paroxysm of rebellious tears.  “Have her home with Mrs. Vane!” she uttered to her own heart; “No, never; rather would she die—­rather would she eat a crust and drink water!” and so on, and so on.  Young demoiselles are somewhat prone to indulge in these flights of fancy; but they are in most cases impracticable and foolish—­exceedingly so in that of Lady Isabel Vane.  Work for their living?  It may appear very feasible in theory; but theory and practice are as opposite as light and dark.  The plain fact was, that Isabel had no alternative whatever, save that of accepting a home with Lady Mount Severn; and the conviction that it must be so stole over her spirit, even while her hasty lips were protesting that she would not.

Two mourners only attended the funeral—­the earl and Mr. Carlyle.  The latter was no relative of the deceased, and but a very recent friend; but the earl had invited him, probably not liking the parading, solus, his trappings of woe.  Some of the county aristocracy were pallbearers, and many private carriages followed.

All was bustle on the following morning.  The earl was to depart, and Isabel was to depart, but not together.  In the course of the day the domestics would disperse.  The earl was speeding to London, and the chaise to convey him to the railway station at West Lynne was already at the door when Mr. Carlyle arrived.

“I was getting fidgety fearing you would not be here, for I have barely five minutes to spare,” observed the earl, as he shook hands.  “You are sure you fully understood about the tombstone?”

“Perfectly,” replied Mr. Carlyle.  “How is Lady Isabel?”

“Very down-hearted, I fear, poor child, for she did not breakfast with me,” replied the earl.  “Mason privately told me that she was in a convulsion of grief.  A bad man, a bad man, was Mount Severn,” he emphatically added, as he rose and rang the bell.

“Let Lady Isabel be informed that I am ready to depart, and that I wait to see her,” he said the servant who answered it.  “And while she is coming, Mr. Carlyle,” he added, “allow me to express my obligations to you.  How I should have got along in this worrying business without you, I cannot divine.  You have promised, mind, to pay me a visit, and I shall expect it speedily.”

“Promised conditionally—­that I find myself in your neighborhood,” smiled Mr. Carlyle.  “Should—­”

Isabel entered, dressed also, and ready, for she was to depart immediately after the earl.  Her crape veil was over her face, but she threw it back.

“My time is up, Isabel, and I must go.  Is there anything you wish to say to me?”