“Where is Carew’s child?” cried one whose thirst for knowledge was not yet slaked.

“Hidden somewhere in that old nest of his,” returned one of the gossips; “a sad life she’s had of it and is like to be in a worse case yet. Sir Thomas never did her a good turn until this day; the worst he did was to father her. An ill-favored wench, too, when last I saw her, thin and yellow and with a cold way that made no friends.”

“Then ye have not seen her lately,” the old woman said with a chuckle; “she has shot up like a young sapling, and has eyes like two stars, and a smile that will turn many a young fool’s head, albeit her purse is empty and her kirtle patched.”

“Poor wench, poor Mistress Betty, my heart doth ache for her,” a kinder woman said, shaking her head.

Strangely enough, at that same moment Mistress Betty Carew was spoken of within the house by Sir William and his wife. He turned[15] from his brother’s corpse, a certain stern relenting in his face, and said to Lady Carew, “There is the child.”

[15]

“Ay, we must have her here, William,” his wife replied at once; “you may not leave your own blood in so poor a strait as he is like to have left the maid.”

Sir William mused. “How old is she?” he asked.

“Seventeen, come Michaelmas,” Lady Carew replied, watchful of her husband’s face, her own heart full of compassion for the orphan.

“I know not how she may be bred up,” he said doubtfully; “she was a plain wench when last I saw her, but that is five years since. Well, well, she must even come and follow this wretched man’s funeral, and then you and she will doubtless find a way to settle it to your own liking.”

So it was that Mistress Betty came to Mohun’s Ottery; a tall, slim girl in a black gown and with a calm look on her young face that startled her uncle, so unlike was it to anything in youth. Sir Thomas was carried from the home of his ancestors with all due state and ceremony, but there was no pretence of mourning, and the well-born rogue was laid in[16] his narrow house without a tear. After it was over, the affairs of the orphan were soon disposed of by Sir William. Finding that she was dowerless, save for a beauty of which her childhood had given no promise, he kept her under his own roof, and she lived there until other events took her to far other scenes. She was then in her girlhood, 

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