en dead three hours--"of a cardial malady," said he, in a
professionally mysterious manner; Mr Leighton, the Vicar of Tewkesbury,
to murmur a few platitudes about the virtues and charity to the poor
which had distinguished the deceased lady, and to express his firm
conviction that so exalted a character would be at once enrolled among
the angelic host, even though she had not been so happy as to receive
the Holy Sacrament. Mr Dawson came last, and his concern appeared to
be awakened rather for the living than the dead.

"Sad business this!" said he, as he entered the parlour, where the
cousins sat, close together, drawn to one another by the fellowship of
suffering, in a manner they had never been before. "Sad business! Was
to have seen me to-day--important matter. Humph!"

The girls looked at him, but neither spoke.

"Do you know," he pursued, apparently addressing himself to both, "how
your grandmother had arranged her affairs?"

"No," said Rhoda and Phoebe together.

"Humph! Pity! Been a good deal better for you, my dear young
gentlewoman, if she had lived another four-and-twenty hours."

Neither said "Which?" for both thought they knew.

"Poor Phoebe!" said Rhoda, pressing her hand. "But never mind, dear;
I'll give it you, just right, what she meant you to have. We'll see
about it before I'm married. Oh dear!--that will have to be put off, I
suppose."

"You are going to be married?" asked the lawyer.

"Yes," said Rhoda, bridling.

"Humph!--good thing for you."

Mr Dawson marched to the window, with his hands in his pockets, and
stood there softly whistling for some seconds.

"Got any money?" he abruptly inquired.

"I? No," said Rhoda.

"No, no; your intended."

"Oh! Yes--three thousand a year."

"Humph!" Mr Dawson whistled again. Then, making as if he meant to
leave the room, he suddenly brought up before Phoebe.

"Are _you_ going to be married?"

"No, Sir," said Phoebe, blushing.

"Humph!" ejaculated the lawyer, once again.

Silence followed for a few seconds.

"Funeral on Sunday, I suppose? Read the will on Monday morning--eh?"

"Yes, if you please," said Rhoda, who was very much subdued.

"Good. Well!--good morning! Poor girl!" The last words were in an
undertone.

"I am so sorry for it, Phoebe, dear," said Rhoda, who was always at her
best under the pressure of trial. "But never you mind--you shall have
it. I'll make it up to you."

Rhoda now naturally assumed