"Yes, my poor Molly's aunt Susan died unmarried." "And in London?
I had been given to understand that she died in Yorkshire." I blushed for my own impertinence as I pressed this inquiry.

What right had I to be given to understand anything about these honest Meynells?
I saw poor uncle Joe's disconcerted face, and I felt that the hunter of an heir-at-law is apt to become a very obnoxious creature.
"Susan Meynell died in London--the poor lass died in London," replied Joseph Mercer, gravely; "and now we'll drop that subject, if you please, my lad.

It isn't a pleasant one." After this I could no longer doubt that there was some painful story involved in those two deprecating sentences of the gospel.
It was some time before uncle Joe was quite his own jovial and rather noisy self again, and on this evening we had no whist.

I bade my friends good night a little earlier than usual, and departed, after having obtained permission to take a tracing of the fly-leaf as soon as possible.
On this night the starlit sky and lonesome moor seemed to have lost their soothing power.

There was a new fever in my mind.