urified the soul just gone,
and made it fit for heaven, and his heart was very sore as he slowly
dressed himself and went down to the breakfast-room to meet his father,
who knew what he did, and who must feel it just as keenly.

Grey's first impulse was to fall upon his neck and cry out:

"I know it. I heard it. I was there. We will bear it together," but when
he remembered that his grandfather had said: "that he was not to know,"
he restrained himself, and said very quietly:

"Grandpa is dead. Aunt Lucy told me. When is the funeral?"

The voice was not like Grey's, and Mr. Jerrold looked up quickly to meet
the eyes which fell at once as did his own. Neither could look in the
other's face with that secret which each knew and was hiding from the
other. But both were outwardly calm, and the breakfast passed quietly,
with no reference to the recent event occupying the minds of all. Mrs.
Jerrold and her sister had expected that Grey would feel his loss keenly
and possibly be noisy in his boyish demonstrations of grief, but they
were not prepared for the torpor which seemed to have settled upon him,
and which kept him indoors all day sitting by the fire over which he
shivered as if in a chill, though his cheeks were crimson, and he
sometimes wiped the drops of sweat from his lips and forehead. His head
was still aching terribly, and he was cold and faint, and this was a
sufficient reason for his declining to accompany his Aunt Lucy, when,
after breakfast was over, she went with his father to the farm-house,
where she spent nearly the entire day, seeing to the many little things
necessary for the funeral, and which Hannah could not attend to.

Geraldine did not go. Her nerves were not equal to it and she should
only be in the way, she said. So she sent her love to Hannah and
remained at home with Grey, who seldom spoke to her, and scarcely
stirred, though occasionally his mother saw his lips move and great
tears roll down his cheeks.

"I supposed he would care, but not so much as this," she thought, as she
watched him anxiously, wondering at the strength of his love for an old
man in whom she had never even felt interested.

Once, moved with pity for him, she put her hand on his head, just as in
the morning she had put it on her husband's, and stooping, kissed him
tenderly, saying:

"I am sorry for you, Grey. It is really making you sick. Try and not
feel so badly. Your grandfather was old and ready to die. You would