uld be
suddenly thrust out of sight--an abomination that the earth must
not look upon--a despicable loathsomeness, to be concealed and to
be forgotten! And this same composition of bone and muscle that was
yesterday so strong--which men respected, and women loved, and children
clung to--to-day so lamentably powerless, unable to defend or protect
those who lay nearest to its heart; its riches wrested from it, its
wishes spat upon, its influence expiring with its last sigh! A breath
from its lips making all that mighty difference between what it was and
what it is!

The post-horses were at the door as the funeral procession returned to
the house.

Mr. Robert Beaufort bowed slightly to Mrs. Morton, and said, with his
pocket-handkerchief still before his eyes:

"I will write to you in a few days, ma'am; you will find that I shall
not forget you. The cottage will be sold; but we sha'n't hurry you.
Good-bye, ma'am; good-bye, my boys;" and he patted his nephews on the
head.

Philip winced aside, and scowled haughtily at his uncle, who muttered
to himself, "That boy will come to no good!" Little Sidney put his hand
into the rich man's, and looked up, pleadingly, into his face. "Can't
you say something pleasant to poor mamma, Uncle Robert?"

Mr. Beaufort hemmed huskily, and entered the britska--it had been his
brother's: the lawyer followed, and they drove away.

A week after the funeral, Philip stole from the house into the
conservatory, to gather some fruit for his mother; she had scarcely
touched food since Beaufort's death. She was worn to a shadow; her
hair had turned grey. Now she had at last found tears, and she wept
noiselessly but unceasingly.

The boy had plucked some grapes, and placed them carefully in his
basket: he was about to select a nectarine that seemed riper than the
rest, when his hand was roughly seized; and the gruff voice of John
Green, the gardener, exclaimed:

"What are you about, Master Philip? you must not touch them 'ere fruit!"

"How dare you, fellow!" cried the young gentleman, in a tone of equal
astonishment and, wrath.

"None of your airs, Master Philip! What I means is, that some great
folks are coming too look at the place tomorrow; and I won't have my
show of fruit spoiled by being pawed about by the like of you; so,
that's plain, Master Philip!"

The boy grew very pale, but remained silent. The gardener, delighted to
retaliate the insolence he had received, continued:

"You n