It was not the face of a woman who could be trusted; there was something insincere beneath its beauty.

I should have liked her better if she had shown more sorrow for the awful event that had happened; as, it was, I could not help thinking that her chief emotion had been a kind of half fear as to what would become of herself.
Then I reproached myself for thinking so unkindly of her, and resolved that I would not judge her; after that I forgot mademoiselle.

I heard the sound of carriage wheels in the distance, and, looking down the long vista of trees, I saw a hearse slowly driven up, and then I knew that the dead Trevelyans had been brought home.
The desolation and sadness of that scene I shall never forget--the hearse, the dark, waving plumes, the sight of the two heavy laden coffins, the servants all in mourning.
A room next the great entrance hall had been prepared; it was all hung with black and lighted with wax tapers.

In the midst stood the two coffins covered with a black velvet pall.
On the coffin of Miles Trevelyan, the son and heir, I saw a wreath of flowers.

I asked several times who had brought it, but no one seemed to know.
I do not think that any one at Crown Anstey went to rest that night, unless it were mademoiselle.