painfully affected by the horrible occurrence that had
marked his return to his old friends, he was yet able to control his
feelings, and devote himself to the alleviation of the distress of the
more immediate sufferers by the calamity.

It was Sunday evening--a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy,
_cheerful_ look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal
tragedy so lately acted within its walls. The birds were singing
blithely amid the trees,--the lowing of the cows resounded from the
yard,--a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open
window,--at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling
for evening service. All these things spoke of peace;--but there are
seasons when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing
effect on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness. So, at least,
thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small
back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. She was a lovely girl, attired
in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her
charming features. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed
in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his
bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. These
persons were Mr. Kneebone and Winifred.

The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. Amongst
others who attended the sad ceremony was Mr. Kneebone. Conceiving
himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this
last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief
mourners. Overcome by his affliction, Mr. Wood had retired to his own
room, where he had just summoned Thames. Much to her annoyance,
therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollen-draper, who
following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much
bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. He had only been
prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs. Wood from pressing his suit long
ago. This obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt.
Happen what might, he could not be in a worse position.

"We have had a sad loss, my dear Winifred," he began,--"for I must use
the privilege of an old friend, and address you by that familiar
name,--we have had a sad loss in the death of your lamented parent,
whose memory I shall for ever revere."

Winifred's eyes filled with tears. This was not exactly what the
woollen-draper d