how respect to his father's
memory in such small matters. That Jerome Otway should be buried as a
son of the Church, to which he had never belonged, was a ground of
indignation, but neither in this could any effective protest be made.
Mute in his sorrow, Piers marvelled with a young man's freshness of
feeling at the forms and insincerities which rule the world. He had a
miserable sense of his helplessness amid forces which he despised.

On the day of the inquest arrived Daniel Otway, Piers having
telegraphed to the club where he had seen his brother three years ago.
Before leaving London, Daniel had provided himself with solemn black,
of the latest cut; Hawes people remarked him with curiosity, saying
what a gentleman he looked, but whispering at the same time rumours and
doubts; for the little town had long gossiped about Jerome, a man not
much to its mind. A day later came Alexander. With him there had been
no means of communicating, and a newspaper paragraph informed him of
his father's death. Appearing in rough tweeds, with a felt hat, he
inspired more curiosity than respect. Both brothers greeted Piers
cordially; both were curt and formal with the widow, but, for
appearances' sake, accepted a cramped lodging in the cottage. Piers
kept very much to himself until the funeral was over; he was then
invited by Daniel to join a conference in what had been his father's
room. Here the man of law (Jerome's name for him) expounded the posture
of things; with all professional, and some personal, tact and delicacy.
Will there was certainly none; Daniel, in the course of things, would
apply for letters of administration. The estate, it might be said,
consisted of certain shares in a prosperous newspaper, an investment
which could be easily realised, and of a small capital in consols; to
the best of the speaker's judgment, the shares were worth about six
thousand pounds, the consols amounted to nearly fifteen hundred. This
capital sum, the widow and the sons would divide in legal proportion.
Followed technicalities, with conversation. Mrs. Otway kept dignified
silence; Piers, in the background, sat with eyes sunk.

"I think," remarked the solicitor gravely and firmly, "that, assembled
as we are in privacy, I am only doing my duty in making known that the
deceased had in view (as I know from hints in his correspondence) to
assist his youngest son substantially, as soon as that son appeared
likely to benefit by such pecuniary aid