will go best on the cart—and my travelling-bag, and have them brought here."
Being in mourning, she had few dresses to choose from, and as she desired to be burthened with as little as possible, she took no evening frocks, which she knew would be superfluous. A certain grey embroidered gown would have been light and useful in this summer dust, but she would not even touch it. She shut the wardrobe on it sharply, and left lying in the open drawer a string of small pearls which her aunt had given her last Christmas.
A few souvenirs of her happy school-days, one or two favourite books, a sketch of her old home, some studies of her horse Bruno, and of her dogs,—she threw them into the boxes, which were plentifully large for her needs. The maid, seeing that her mistress left more than half her clothes behind, was satisfied to take for herself only what she would require for a few days.
Elizabeth gulped down the coffee and rolls they brought her. She had one more thing to do—the only thing that cost her a pang. She descended the stair with a firm tread, and passed the open drawing-room, where the maids were sweeping, and where Coco from his cage was calling out, "Drat that girl!" The bird was connected with her, Elizabeth shuddered, as she said to herself she could never tolerate a parrot again. She passed by, and out of the hall door, and on to the stable-yard. There was nothing in the house that she ever wished to see again; she could not leave Farley without bidding her old horse farewell. She went into his stall, and laid her cheek against his soft nose, and stroked his silken crest.
