direct line; and I knew that Miles the First would have made this
disposition of the place, could he have foreseen events, and had the law
allowed it. Then Grace had wished such an arrangement, and I had a sad
happiness in executing all the known wishes of my sister.

The funeral did not occur until the day after the arrival of John
Wallingford, who accidentally heard of the death that had occurred in the
family, and came uninvited to attend the obsequies, as has been mentioned.
I passed most of the evening in the company of this relative, with whom I
became so much pleased as to request he would walk with me next day as
second nearest of kin. This arrangement, as I had reason to know in the
end, gave great offence to several who stood one degree nearer in blood to
the deceased, though not of her name. Thus are we constituted!--we will
quarrel over a grave even, a moment that should lay open eternity to our
view, with all its immense consequences and accompaniments, in order to
vindicate feelings and passions that can only interest us, as it might be,
for a day. Fortunately I knew nothing of the offence that was taken at
the time, nor did I see any of my kinsmen but John Wallingford that
evening; his presence in my room being owing altogether to a certain
self-possession and an _a plomb_ that caused him to do very much as he
pleased in such matters.

I rose on the following morning at a late hour, and with a heaviness at
the heart that was natural to the occasion. It was a lovely summer's day;
but all in and around Clawbonny wore the air of a Sunday. The procession
was to form at ten o'clock; and, as I cast my eyes from my window, I could
see the negroes moving about on the lawns, and in the lanes, attired in
their best, but wearing no holiday faces. It seemed to me to be a species
of unnatural Sabbath, possessing all its solemnity, its holy stillness,
its breathing calm, but wanting in that solacing spirit of peace which is
so apt to be imparted to the day of rest in the country, most particularly
at that season of the year. Several of the neighbours, who did not belong
to Clawbonny, were beginning to appear; and I felt the necessity of
dressing in order to be in readiness for what was to follow.

I had eaten alone in my little study or library from the time my sister
died, and had seen no one since my return to the house, the servants
excepted, besides my guardian, Lucy, and John Wallingford. The last had
taken a lig