till to-morrow night. I must stay here. I
daren't go; but I lay it on you in the most
solemn manner to see that the funeral does
not go forward till I come."

"Certainly not, sir," says Pawler; "it
would be most improper—out of all rule."

"Ah! but you don't know; promise me
whatever they—anyone—may say, my poor
father shall not go to his grave without my
seeing him. But what good is my telling you
this? They will have their own way. I can't
be there!"

"Sir," says Pawler, "I hope I know my
duty; I have your authority, and no man
shall get the better of me in this. Make your
mind easy, sir."

The young man did not say any more, but
covered up his face with his hands, and
shortly after went away in great trouble. We
started not long after, by the night train—a
good many of us, too. I took all my staff
with me, as Pawler said, besides some extra
hands, for it was to be done handsomely, and
no expense spared. We had a pleasant little
party going down, for, look you, sir, a professional
can't keep on a sad face every day of
his life—it's enough to look downcast on his
duty, or when he's Walking—that's what I
think. Well, we got to Red Grange early
next morning—one of your ancient, open-
house, have-what-you-like sort of place. Why,
sir, when I saw the straggling buildings and
the gables, and the roomy porch, and the long
avenue with its three rows of lime-trees,
Why, I could figure for myself, as plain as if
I was looking at them, the big family vault,
and the family ancestors in marble, at the
church hard by, and the tenants riding up on
their stout cobs. These things may be known
with half an eye as one may say. We got in
as quietly as we could into the house—of
course keeping out of the way of company—
for you know, sir, families have, some of 'em,
a dislike to meeting us on the strairs. There's
no accounting for these things, sir. As soon
as was decent, I sent up a message asking to
see whoever was head of the establishment,
as is only usual. I sent the staff into the
kitchen, and went myself to the butler's room
to learn the geographies of the place. I could
have made a picture of him, too, as I went
along the gallery. A most respectable man
this will be, I said to myself—with a short
throat and a husky voice, with some of the
old port in his cheeks, and more in the pantry
cupboard. I know them well, they are all off
the same joint. Well, he was, as I knew
he would be, a most respectable man, and
showed me how things lay in very few
minutes. There was upstairs only Mrs.
Craven, second wife of Welbore Craven,
his brother, who managed everything now.

"The major was here very often," says the
butler, fetching down the port (I knew he
would); "very often—oftener when poor Mr.
Welbore Craven was up in London. He was
very friendly, the major," said the butler,
looking hard at me."

"Ah!" I said, looking at him; "I see.
Here during the illness, I'll swear!"

"That he was—the poor man died blessing
him!"

"She's young and handsome, I'll warrant?"
said I, I never saw her, sir; but I knew
she was young and handsome; I did, indeed,
sir!

"You may say that," says the butler;
"but there's the bell for you."

So I went up at once to the drawing-room.

The major was there, sitting at the table
—a tall dark man, with a moustache, and a
little stoop in the chest—a very gentlemanly-
looking man he was, sir, and his voice was as
soft as a woman's. The room was rather
gloomy, as the lower shutters were closed;
and, as well as I could make out, he seemed
to be writing at the table. He said:

"You are the person sent down by Mr.
Pawler?"

"Yes, sir," said I, "at your service."

"I have sent for you to beg that everything
may be in readiness for having the
funeral to-morrow. This is Mrs. Craven's
wish, for whom I am acting."

"Impossible, sir," I said; "it can't be."

"Did you quite understand me?" he said,
very politely.

"I did, sir," I said; "my hearing is as
good as most people's. But what I say is
this, and no disrespect to you, that the interment
of the late Welbore Craven, Esquire,
cannot take place to-morrow. You see my chief
won't be down, and half the things are to
come as yet."

This wasn't quite the truth, for we might
have done it at an hour's notice; but I had
my orders.

"If that be so," says the major, biting his
nails hard, "there's no help for it—a day
sooner or later can't make much difference.
But what shall I say to her?" (This was to
himself.) "Look you, sir, it must be done
to-morrow morning. Mrs. Craven wishes it
so, and she's mistress here."

"It's no use, sir," I said, "I can't do
impossibilities."

"Go down-stairs," he said, stamping his
foot.

"I'm sure, sir, Mr. Pawler when he comes
will—"

"I think I asked you to go down-stairs?"
he said in his polite way, which someway
took me very much aback.

Well, sir, I left him there, and we shortly after
went up-stairs to put things in order there.
There was a sort of a large ante-room
outside, where the late Welbore Craven Esquire
was lying,—all over black oak, and as dark a
room as ever I sat in. It was all full of queer
cupboards, and crannies, and pigeon-holes,
stuck up and down and everywhere. I never
saw such a built thing—never. I settled myself
there at once, and sent the others down