ast
illness, which I never should have got from the brother.

"He talked a deal about you," she said. "But you see, you're just
about t' age his son would have been if he'd lived."

"His son!" I cried: "was Mr. Andrewes married?"

"Ay," said she, "Master Reginald were married going i' two year. It
were his wife's death made him that queer while he couldn't abide the
business, and he'd allus been a great scholard, so he went for a
parson."

Every detail that I could get from Alathea was interesting to me.
Apart from the sadly interesting subject, she had admirable powers of
narration. Her language (when it did not become too local for my
comprehension) was forcible and racy to a degree, and she was not
checked by the reserve which clogged Mr. Jonathan's lips. The
following morning she came to the door of the drawing-room (a large
dreary room, which, like the rest of the house, was handsomely
_upholstered_ rather than furnished), and beckoned mysteriously to me
from the door. I went out to her.

"You'd like to see the body afore they fastens it up?" she said.

I bent my head and followed her.

"He makes a beautiful corpse," she whispered, as we passed into the
room. It was an incongruous remark, and stirred again an hysterical
feeling that had been driving me to laugh when I felt most sad amid
all the grotesquely dreary preparations for the "burying." But, like
some other sayings that offend ears polite, it had the merit of truth.

It was not the beauty of the Rector's face in death, however, noble as
it was, that alone drew from me a cry of admiration when I stooped
over his coffin. From the feet to the breast, utterly hiding the grave
clothes, and tastefully grouped about his last pillow, were the most
beautiful exotic flowers I ever beheld. Flowers lately introduced that
I had never seen, flowers that I knew to be rare, almost
priceless--flowers of gorgeous colours and delicate hothouse beauty,
lay there in profusion.

"Mr. Jonathan sent for 'em," Betty murmured in my ear. "There's pounds
and pounds' worth lies there. He give orders accordingly. There warn't
to be a flower 'at warn't worth its weight in gowd a'most. Mr.
Reginald were that fond of flowers."

I made no answer. Bitterly ached my heart to think of that dear and
noble face buried out of sight; the familiar countenance that should
light up no more at the sight of me and Sweep. "He looks so happy," I
muttered, almost jealously. Alathea laid her h