It was an old oak
chest, and within lay a skeleton, together with a few fragments of
female clothing, a wedding ring, and some coins of the later
Stewarts, in a rotten leathern purse. This was ghastly
confirmation, though there was nothing else to connect the bones
with poor Margaret. We had some curiosity as to the coffin in the
niche in the family vault which bore her name, but both Clarence and
Mr. Fordyce shrank from investigations which could not be carried
out without publicity, and might perhaps have disturbed other
remains.
So on the ensuing night there was a strange, quiet funeral service
at Earlscombe Church. Mr. Henderson officiated, and Chapman acted
as clerk. These, with Amos Bell, alone knew the tradition, or
understood what the discovery meant to the two Fordyces and three
Winslows who stood at the opening of the vault, and prayed that
whatever guilt there might be should be put away from the families
so soon to be made one. The coins were placed with those of
Victoria, which the next day Anne laid beneath the foundation-stone
of St. Cecily's. I need not say that no one has ever again heard
the wailings, nor seen the lady with the lamp.
What more is there to tell? It was of this first half of our lives
that I intended to write, and though many years have since passed,
they have not had the same character of romance and would not
interest you.
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