had been taken ill; the pain had seemed to become
fiercer as the hours went on; she had died at ten o'clock that night.

Ralph stood there and listened, his head pressed against the high
mantelpiece, and his fingers stretching and closing mechanically to
supple the stiffened joints.

"Mistress Atherton was with her all the while," said his father; "she
asked for her."

Ralph shot a glance sideways, and down again.

"And--" he began.

"Yes; she was shriven and anointed, thank God; she could not receive
Viaticum."

Ralph did not know whether he was glad or sorry at that news. It was a
proper proceeding at any rate; as proper as the candles and the shroud
and the funeral rites. As regards grief, he did not feel it yet; but he
was aware of a profound sensation in his soul, as of a bruise.

There was silence for a moment or two; then the wind bellowed suddenly
in the chimney, the tall window gave a crack of sound, and the smoke
eddied out into the room. Ralph turned round.

"They are with her still," said Sir James; "we can go up presently."

The other shook his head abruptly.

"No," he said, "I will wait until to-morrow. Which is my room?"

"Your old room," said his father. "I have had a truckle-bed set there
for your man. Will you find your way? I must stay here for Mistress
Atherton."

Ralph nodded sharply, and went out, down the hill.

* * * * *

It was half an hour more before Beatrice appeared; and then Sir James
looked up from his chair at the sound of a footstep and saw her coming
up the matted floor. Her face was steady and resolute, but there were
dark patches under her eyes, for she had not slept for two nights.

Sir James stood up, and held out his hands.

"Ralph has come," he said. "He is gone to his room. Where are the
others?"

"The priests are at prayers and Meg too," she said, "It is all ready,
sir. You may go up when you please."

"I must say a word first," said Sir James. "Sit down, Mistress
Atherton."

He drew forward his chair for her; and himself stood up on the hearth,
leaning his head on his hand and looking down into the fire.

"It is this," he said: "May our Lord reward you for what you have done
for us."

Beatrice was silent.

"You know she asked my pardon," he said, "when we were left alone
together. You do not know what that means. And she gave me her
forgiveness for all my folly--"

Beatrice drew a sharp breath in spite of herself.