Once, it crossed the servant's mind to send for some clergyman; but she knew none, and was aware that Mrs. Ascott did not either. She had no superstitious feeling that any clergyman would do; just to give a sort of spiritual extreme unction to the departing soul. Her own religious faith was of such an intensely personal, silent kind, that she did not believe in any good to be derived from a strange gentleman coming and praying by the bedside of a stranger, repeating set sayings with a set countenance, and going away again. And yet with that instinct which comes to almost every human soul fast departing, Mrs. Ascott's white lips whispered, "Pray." Elizabeth had no words, except those which Miss Leaf used to say night after night in the little parlour at Stowbury. She knelt down, and in a trembling voice repeated in her mistress's _" Our Father which art in heaven" to the end. After it Mrs. Ascott lay very quiet. At length she said, "Please-bring-my baby." It had been from the first, and was to the last, "my" baby. The small face was laid close to hers that she might kiss it. "He looks well; he does not miss me much yet, poor little fellow!" And then the strong natural agony came upon her, conquering even the weakness of her dying hour. "Oh, it's hard, hard! Will nobody teach my baby to remember me?" Lifting herself up on her elbow, she caught hold of nurse. "Tell Mr. Ascott that Elizabeth is to take care of baby. Promise, Elizabeth. Johanna is old - Hilary may be marriedyou will take care of my baby?" "I will as long as I live," said Elizabeth Hand. She took the child in her arms, and for almost another hour stood beside the bed thus, until nurse whispered, "Carry it away, its mother doesn't know it now." But she did; for she feebly moved her fingers as if in search of something. Baby was still asleep, but Elizabeth contrived, by kneeling down close to the bed, to put the tiny hand under those cold fingers; they closed immediately upon it, and remained so till the last. When Miss Leaf and Miss Hilary came in, Elizabeth was still kneeling there, trying softly to take the little hand away; for the baby had wakened, and began its piteous wail. But it did not disturb the mother now. "Poor Selina" was no more. Nothing of her was left to her child except the name of a mother. It may have been better so. 225 CHAPTER X. "IN MEMORY OF SELINA, THE BELOVED WIFE OF PETER ASCOTT, ESQ. AND DAUGHTER OF THE LATE HENRY LEAF, ESQ. OF THIS TOWN. DIED DECEMBER 24, 1839, SUCH was the inscription which now, for six months, had met the eyes of the inhabitants of Stowbury, on a large dazzlinglywhite marble monument, the first that was placed in the churchyard of the New Church. What motive induced Mr. Ascott to inter his wife here-whether it was a natural wish to lay her, and some day lie beside her, in their native earth, or the less creditable desire of showing how rich he had become, and of joining his once humble name, even on a tombstone, with one of the oldest names in the annals of Stowburynobody could find out. Probably nobody cared. The Misses Leaf were content that he should do as he pleased in the matter: he had shown strong but not exaggerated grief at his loss; if any remorse mingled therewith, Selina's sisters happily did not know it. Nobody ever did know the full history of things except Elizabeth, and she kept it to herself. So the family skeleton was buried quietly in Mrs. Ascott's grave. Peter Ascott showed, in his coarse fashion, much sympathy and consideration for his wife's sisters. He had them staying in his house till a week after the funeral was over, and provided them with the deepest and handsomest mourning. He even, in a formal way, took counsel with them as to the carrying out of Mrs. Ascott's wishes, and the retaining of Elizabeth in charge of the son and heir, which was accordingly settled. And then they went back to their |