The artist had caught both most happily; and though the fair locks I had admired were uncovered, I knew my little ladies of the beaver bonnets again.
Having failed to learn anything about them from the housekeeper, I went to old Giles and asked him the name of the gentleman to whom the place belonged.
"St.John," he replied.
"I suppose he has got children ?" I continued.
"Only one living," said old Giles.

"They do say he've buried six, most on 'em in galloping consumptions.

It do stand to reason they've had all done for 'em that gold could buy, but afflictions, sir, they be as heavy on the rich man as the poor; and when a body's time be come it ain't outlandish oils nor furrin parts can cure 'em." I wondered which of the quaint little ladies had died, and whether they had taken her to "furrin parts" before her death; and I thought if it were the grey-eyed little maid, how sad and helpless her little sister must be.
"Only one left ?" I said mechanically.
"Ay, ay," said old Giles; "and he be pretty bad, I fancy.

They've got him in furrin parts where the sun shines all along; but they do say he be wild to get back home, but that'll not be, but in his coffin, to be laid with the rest in the big vault.

Ay, ay, affliction spares none, sir, nor yet death." So this last of the St.John family was a boy.