Meanwhile, Fanny rolled up the carpet into a monstrous wad. In the moment that the mummy finally turned to gape in her direction with its maggot-crawling open jaw, she shoved with all her strength and the carpet was imbedded in its tediously terrifying mouth.

The usual consequences followed. The mummy struggled. Then, as the breath of life was cut off, it went still, and in moments, became sand and dust.

“There we go,” said Fanny with some measure of satisfaction, wiping her hands and then shaking the carpet out. It was in that moment that Rebecca came to herself with a start and started to shriek: “Oh, I’ll mend it right now, quick as day, I promise, oh, please! Not him, just don’t let ’im near me again! Please, I’ll fix it right in a jiffy, please, I’ll—”

“He won’t be bothering you again, Rebecca,” said Fanny kindly, realizing a great deal of things at that point. “Indeed, you can start by sweeping him off the porch. Then, be sure to mend the carpet. And also, please re-wash all the dishes, and see if later—after you’ve rested a bit, of course, since, I am afraid you’ve been somewhat drained—you can do the laundry—properly, this time.”

And as Mrs. Price looked blandly out of the house, Fanny said: “I dare say, mother, I am quite certain you will not have any servant problems from this point forward.”

Now that the carriage had come (the driver had been watching the proceedings in somewhat stunned silence from his perch); and the mummy eliminated, Edmund entered the house.

It was just in time to spend a few minutes with the family, and be a witness—but he saw nothing—of the tranquil manner in which the daughters were parted with. It was also just in time to prevent their sitting down to the breakfast-table, which, by dint of much unusual activity on behalf of the new, industrious Rebecca, was quite and completely ready as the carriage drove from the door. Fanny’s last meal in her father’s house was in character with her first: she was dismissed from it as hospitably as she had been welcomed.

How her heart swelled with joy and gratitude as she passed the barriers of Portsmouth and witnessed her last lumbering peeling “fellow” bumping endlessly against a building wall, and how Susan’s face wore its broadest smiles, may be easily conceived. Sitting forwards, however, and screened by her bonnet, those smiles were unseen.

“That was such a very opportune bit of carpet, Susan. Quite well done, indeed!” whispered Fanny to her young, avid pupil with fondness.

In other respects, the journey was likely to be a silent one. Edmund’s deep sighs often reached Fanny. Had he been alone with her, his heart must have opened. But Susan’s presence drove him quite into himself, and his attempts to talk on indifferent subjects were not long supported.