ome again."

"The Lord has taken him to the mansions of the just, from his private
address at Sydenham Hill. A burning and a shining light! May we like
him be found watching in that day, with our lamps trimmed and our loins
girded!"

For the moment I was too surprised to speak, and the kind old man led me
into the passage, seeing how pale and faint I was. He belonged, like
his master, and a great part of their business, to a simple religious
persuasion, or faith, which now is very seldom heard of.

"It was just in this way," he said, as soon as tears had enabled me to
speak--for even at the first sight I had felt affection toward my new
guardian. "Our master is a very punctual man, for five-and-thirty years
never late--never late once till this morning. Excuse me, miss, I ought
to be ashamed. The Lord knoweth what is best for us. Well, you threw him
out a good bit yesterday, and there was other troubles. And he had to
work late last night, I hear; for through his work he would go, be it
anyhow--diligent in business, husbanding the time--and when he came down
to breakfast this morning, he prayed with his household as usual, but
they noticed his voice rather weak and queer; and the mistress looked
at him when he got up from his knees; but he drank his cup of tea and
he ate his bit of toast, which was all he ever took for breakfast. But
presently when his cob came up to the door--for he always rode in to
business, miss, no matter what the weather was--he went to kiss his wife
and his daughters all round, according to their ages; and he got through
them all, when away he fell down, with the riding-whip in one hand, and
expired on a piece of Indian matting."

"How terrible!" I exclaimed, with a sob. And the poor old man, in spite
of all his piety, was sobbing.

"No, miss; not a bit of terror about it, to a man prepared as he was.
He had had some warning just a year ago; and the doctors all told him he
must leave off work. He could no more do without his proper work than he
could without air or victuals. What this old established concern will
do without him, our Divine Master only knows. And a pinch coming on in
Threadneedle Street, I hear--but I scarcely know what I am saying, miss;
I was thinking of the camel and the needle."

"I will not repeat what you have not meant to tell," I answered, seeing
his confusion, and the clumsy turn he had made of it. "Only tell me what
dear Mr. Shovelin died of."

"Heart-disease, mi