The Baroness and Mabel had never been in Beryngford since the death
of Judge Lawrence many years before; and it was with sad and bitter
hearts that both women recalled the past and realised anew the
disasters which had wrecked their dearest hopes and ambitions.
The Baroness, broken in spirit and crushed by the insanity of her
beloved Alice, now saw the form of the man whom she had hopelessly
loved for so many years, laid away to crumble back to dust; and yet,
the sorrows which should have softened her soul, and made her heart
tender toward all suffering humanity, rendered her pitiless as the
grave toward one lonely and desolate being before the shadows of
night had fallen upon the grave of Preston Cheney.
When the funeral march pealed out from the grand new organ during the
ceremonies in the church, both the Baroness and the rector, absorbed
as they were in mournful sorrow, started with surprise. Both gazed
at the organ loft; and there, before the great instrument, sat the
graceful figure of Joy Irving. The rector's face grew pale as the
corpse in the casket; the withered cheek of the Baroness turned a
sickly yellow, and a spark of anger dried the moisture in her eyes.
Before the night had settled over the thriving city of Beryngford,
the Baroness dropped a point of virus from the lancet of her tongue
to poison the social atmosphere where Joy Irving had by the merest
accident of fate made her new home, and where in the office of
organist she had, without dreaming of her dramatic situation, played
the requiem at the funeral of her own father.