ce over him, and used it, in general, for his good. At present he
was in rather an unmanageable mood, but still she did not mean to let
him escape her.

"He looks dreadfully worried, poor boy!" she said to herself. "Being
shut up here day after day must be bad for him. I shall _make_ Sir John
take him out to-morrow."

But when to-morrow came, and Sir John paid his daily visit to his wife,
she had other things to think about. He found the servants lingering
about the halls and staircases in silent excitement, and in the sick
room a little group watching, as they stood round the bed, for the old
man's final falling asleep.

He had been conscious early in the morning, and spoken to both his
grandchildren; but gradually, so very gradually that they could not say
"he changed at such an hour," the heavy rigidity of death closed upon
his already paralysed limbs, and his eyes grew dimmer. It was a very
quiet peaceful closing of a long life, which, except that it had been
sometimes hard and proud, had passed in usefulness and honour. And so,
towards sunset, some one said, "He is gone," and laid a hand gently upon
the stiffening eyelids.

Sir John took his wife away to her room, and there she leaned her head
against his shoulder and cried, not very bitterly, but with real
affection for her grandfather. Maurice went away also, very grave, and
thinking tenderly of the many kind words and deeds which had marked the
months of his stay at Hunsdon. And yet within half an hour, Lady Dighton
was talking to her husband quite calmly about some home affairs which
interested him; and Maurice had begun to calculate how soon he could get
away for that long-deferred six weeks' absence.

But, of course, although they could not keep their thoughts prisoners,
these mourners, who were genuine mourners after their different degrees,
were constrained to observe the decorous, quiet, and interregnum of all
ordinary occupation, which custom demands after a death. Lady Dighton
returned home next day, hidden in her carriage, and went to shut herself
up in her own house until the funeral. Maurice remained at Hunsdon,
where he was now master, and spent his days in the library writing
letters, or trying to make plans for his future, and it was then that
the letter with his lost message to Mrs. Costello was sent off.

Yet the space between Mr. Beresford's death and his funeral was to his
heir a tedious and profitless blank. He had till now been kept her