and not accessible to impression from the mere aspect of death; and he
did not know Mr Wodehouse, nor care much for anything in the matter,
except his own virtue in excluding the Perpetual Curate from any share
in the service. Such was the Rector's feeling in respect to this
funeral, which made so much commotion in Carlingford. He felt that he
was vindicating the purity of his profession as he threaded his way
through the pathetic hillocks, where the nameless people were lying, to
poor Mr Wodehouse's grave.

This, however, was not the only thing which aroused the wonder and
interest of the townspeople when the two shrinking, hooded female
figures, all black and unrecognisable, rose up trembling to follow their
dead from the church to the grave. Everybody saw with wonder that their
place was contested, and that somebody else, a man whom no one knew,
thrust himself before them, and walked alone in the chief mourner's
place. As for Lucy, who, through her veil and her tears, saw nothing
distinctly, this figure, which she did not know, struck her only with a
vague astonishment. If she thought of it at all, she thought it a
mistake, simple enough, though a little startling, and went on, doing
all she could to support her sister, saying broken prayers in her heart,
and far too much absorbed in the duty she was performing to think who
was looking on, or to be conscious of any of the attending
circumstances, except Mr Morgan's voice, which was not the voice she had
expected to hear. Miss Wodehouse was a great deal more agitated than
Lucy. She knew very well who it was that placed himself before her,
asserting his own right without offering any help to his sisters; and
vague apprehensions, which she herself could not understand, came over
her just at the moment when she required her strength most. As there
were no other relations present, the place of honour next to the two
ladies had been tacitly conceded to Mr Proctor and Mr Wentworth; and it
was thus that the Curate rendered the last service to his old friend. It
was a strange procession, and concentrated in itself all that was most
exciting in Carlingford at the moment. Everybody observed and commented
upon the strange man, who, all remarkable and unknown, with his great
beard and sullen countenance, walked by himself as chief mourner. Who
was he? and whispers arose and ran through the outskirts of the crowd of
the most incredible description. Some said he was an illegitimate