pointed upwards interrogatively and, on my aunt's nodding, proceeded to
toil up the narrow staircase before us, her bowed head being scarcely
above the level of the banister-rail. At the first landing she stopped
and beckoned us forward encouragingly towards the open door of the
dead-room. My aunt went in and the old woman, seeing that I hesitated to
enter, began to beckon to me again repeatedly with her hand.

I went in on tiptoe. The room through the lace end of the blind was
suffused with dusky golden light amid which the candles looked like pale
thin flames. He had been coffined. Nannie gave the lead and we three
knelt down at the foot of the bed. I pretended to pray but I could not
gather my thoughts because the old woman's mutterings distracted me. I
noticed how clumsily her skirt was hooked at the back and how the heels
of her cloth boots were trodden down all to one side. The fancy came to
me that the old priest was smiling as he lay there in his coffin.

But no. When we rose and went up to the head of the bed I saw that he
was not smiling. There he lay, solemn and copious, vested as for the
altar, his large hands loosely retaining a chalice. His face was very
truculent, grey and massive, with black cavernous nostrils and circled
by a scanty white fur. There was a heavy odour in the room--the flowers.

We crossed ourselves and came away. In the little room downstairs we
found Eliza seated in his arm-chair in state. I groped my way towards my
usual chair in the corner while Nannie went to the sideboard and brought
out a decanter of sherry and some wine-glasses. She set these on the
table and invited us to take a little glass of wine. Then, at her
sister's bidding, she filled out the sherry into the glasses and passed
them to us. She pressed me to take some cream crackers also but I
declined because I thought I would make too much noise eating them. She
seemed to be somewhat disappointed at my refusal and went over quietly
to the sofa where she sat down behind her sister. No one spoke: we all
gazed at the empty fireplace.

My aunt waited until Eliza sighed and then said:

"Ah, well, he's gone to a better world."

Eliza sighed again and bowed her head in assent. My aunt fingered the
stem of her wine-glass before sipping a little.

"Did he... peacefully?" she asked.

"Oh, quite peacefully, ma'am," said Eliza. "You couldn't tell when the
breath went out of him. He had a beautiful death, God be praised."

"