door was not locked, and he entered. No workmen appeared to be
present, and he walked from sunny window to sunny window of the empty
rooms, with a sense of seclusion which might have been very pleasant but
for the antecedent knowledge that his almost paternal care of Lucy Savile
was to be thrown away by her wilfulness. Footsteps echoed through an
adjoining room; and bending his eyes in that direction, he perceived Mr.
Jones, the architect. He had come to look over the building before
giving the contractor his final certificate. They walked over the house
together. Everything was finished except the papering: there were the
latest improvements of the period in bell-hanging, ventilating, smoke-
jacks, fire-grates, and French windows. The business was soon ended, and
Jones, having directed Barnet's attention to a roll of wall-paper
patterns which lay on a bench for his choice, was leaving to keep another
engagement, when Barnet said, 'Is the tomb finished yet for Mrs. Downe?'

'Well--yes: it is at last,' said the architect, coming back and speaking
as if he were in a mood to make a confidence. 'I have had no end of
trouble in the matter, and, to tell the truth, I am heartily glad it is
over.'

Barnet expressed his surprise. 'I thought poor Downe had given up those
extravagant notions of his? then he has gone back to the altar and canopy
after all? Well, he is to be excused, poor fellow!'

'O no--he has not at all gone back to them--quite the reverse,' Jones
hastened to say. 'He has so reduced design after design, that the whole
thing has been nothing but waste labour for me; till in the end it has
become a common headstone, which a mason put up in half a day.'

'A common headstone?' said Barnet.

'Yes. I held out for some time for the addition of a footstone at least.
But he said, "O no--he couldn't afford it."'

'Ah, well--his family is growing up, poor fellow, and his expenses are
getting serious.'

'Yes, exactly,' said Jones, as if the subject were none of his. And
again directing Barnet's attention to the wall-papers, the bustling
architect left him to keep some other engagement.

'A common headstone,' murmured Barnet, left again to himself. He mused a
minute or two, and next began looking over and selecting from the
patterns; but had not long been engaged in the work when he heard another
footstep on the gravel without, and somebody enter the open porch.

Barnet went to the door--it was his manse