e he must have made? There
was a note of the casual conversation of an assumed miser with Rawdon,
in which Rawdon was represented as saying: "Dry sandy soil, well drained
with two slopes, under a rain-shed, will keep millions in a cigar box."
That the Squire noted; then he sealed up the rest of the papers, and
addressed them to Hickey Bangs, Esq., D.I.R., ready for the post in the
morning. The colonel, Mrs. and Miss Du Plessis were all in Wilkinson's
room. The colonel was commenting upon the four poor souls that had gone
before God's judgment seat, three of them, probably, with murder on
their hands; and thanked God that his boy had died in the war, brave and
pure and good, with no stain on his young life. "When my boy was killed,
my deah Fahquhah, I felt like the Electoh Palatine of the Rhine, when
young Duke Christopheh, his son, fell at Mookerheyde, accohding to
Motley: he said ''Twas bettah thus than to have passed his time in
idleness, which is the devil's pillow.' Suh, I honouh the Electoh
Palatine foh that. What melancholy ghaves these pooah creatuhes fill."
Then Mrs. Du Plessis wept, mildly, and Miss Du Plessis, and they all had
to wipe a few tears out of Wilkinson's eyes. Had Coristine been there,
he would have been scandalized. The lawyer's lady-love was engaged in
very prosaic work in the sewing-room, with her aunt, running a
sewing-machine to make much-needed clothes for the unhappy woman, whom
the coroner's jury, by a euphemism, called Rawdon's wife. The two had
seen her off in charge of good old Mr. Newberry, and had promised to
send her the work, which she herself had begun; and, now, they were
toiling with all their might to redeem the promise, as early as
possible, in spite of the tears that would come also into their foolish
eyes, blurring their vision and damping their material. Coristine, who
longed for a sight of fresh young life after the vision of death, did
not know what kept that young life within, and, like an unreasonable
man, was inclined to be angry. He was overwrought, poor fellow,
sleepless and tired, and emotionally excited, and, therefore, ready for
any folly under the sun.

Mrs. Carmichael had entered the house, with the Captain and Mr. Terry.
The lawyer remained alone in the garden, waiting for something to turn
up. Something did turn up in the shape of the stage on its way to the
post office, which dropped its only passenger at the Bridesdale gate.
The passenger was a young fellow of