l.'

'Is it--?'

'Yes. It must have been soon after he lay down at night. As calm as
sleep. The heart. I am very thankful. I had thought he would have
had much to suffer.'

And then it appeared that his own observations had made him sure of
what Ethel had learnt from Tom; but as long as it was unavowed by his
friend, he had thought himself bound to ignore it, and had so dreaded
the protracted suffering, that the actual stroke was accepted as a
loving dispensation.

Still, as the close of a life-long friendship, the end of a daily
refreshing and sustaining intimacy, the loss was very great, and would
be increasingly felt after the first stimulus was over. It would make
Tom's defection a daily grievance, since much detail of hospital care,
and, above all, town work, his chief fatigue, would now again fall upon
him. But this was not his present thought. His first care was, that
his friend's remains should rest with those with whom his lot in life
had been cast, in the cloister of the old Grammar-school; but here Mr.
Cheviot looked concerned, and with reluctance, but decision, declared
it to be his duty not to consent, cited the funeral of one of his
scholars at the cemetery, and referred to recent sanatory measures.

Dr. May quickly exclaimed that he had looked into the matter, and that
the cloister did not come under the Act.

'Not technically, sir,' said Mr. Cheviot; 'but I am equally convinced
of my duty, however much I may regret it.' And then, with a few words
about Mary's presently coming up, he departed; while 'That is too bad,'
was the general indignant outburst, even from Richard; from all but Dr.
May himself.

'He is quite right,' he said. 'Dear Spencer would be the first to say
so. Richard, your church is his best monument, and you'll not shut him
out of your churchyard nor me either.'

'Cheviot could not have meant--' began Richard.

'Yes, he did, I understood him, and I am glad you should have had it
out now,' said Dr. May, though not without a quivering lip. 'Your
mother has _one_ by her side, and we'll find each other out just as
well as if we were in the cloister. I'll walk over to Cocksmoor with
you, Ritchie, and mark the place.'

Thus sweetly did he put aside what might have been so severe a shock;
and he took extra pains to show his son-in-law his complete
acquiescence both for the present and the future. Charles Cheviot
expressed to Richard his great satisfaction in finding se