"
Cecile sighed. "She always _spoke_ about going to the Celestial
City and the New Jerusalem," she said.
Now the dairymaid, who happened to be a Methodist, stood near. She
now came forward.
"Ain't heaven and the New Jerusalem jest one and the same, Jane
Parsons? What's the use of puzzling a child like that? Yes, Miss
Cecile, honey, the old lady is in heaven, or the New Jerusalem, or
the Celestial City, which you like to call it. They all means the
same."
Cecile thanked the dairymaid and walked away. She was a little
comforted by this explanation, and a tiny gleam of light was entering
her mind. Still she was very far from the truth.
The halcyon days between Mrs. Bell's death and her funeral passed
all too quickly. Then came the day of the funeral, and the next
morning the iron rule of Lydia Purcell began again. Whatever few
words she said to cook, dairymaid, and message-boy, they once more
obeyed her and showed her respect. And there was no more cream for
Maurice, nor special dainties for the little picnic basket. That same
day, too, Lydia and Mr. Preston had a long conversation.
"It is settled then," said the lawyer, "and you stay on here and
manage everything on the old footing until we hear from Mr. Bell. I
have telegraphed, but he is not likely to reply except by letter. You
may reckon yourself safe not to be disturbed out of your present snug
quarters for the winter."
"And hard I must save," said Lydia; "I have but beggary to face when
I'm turned out.
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