seemed as if it were a home-like,
comfortable thought to him, that her mother had one of her children with
her. He called her the first link of his Daisy Chain drawn up out of
sight; and, during the quiet days that ensued, he seemed as it were to
be lifted above grief, dwelling upon hope. His calmness impressed the
same on his children, as they moved about in the solemn stillness of the
house; and when Harry, pale, and shocked at the blow to him so sudden,
came home, the grave silence soothed his violence of grief; and he sat
beside his, father or Mary, speaking in undertones of what Margaret had
loved to hear from him, of Alan Ernescliffe's last moments.

Mary gave way to a burst of weeping when she sought, in vain, for
daisies in the wintry garden; but Hector Ernescliffe went down to the
cloisters, and brought back the lingering blossoms to be placed on
Margaret's bosom.

The dog Toby had followed him, unseen, to the cloister; and he was
entering the garden, when he was struck by seeing the animal
bounding, in irrepressible ecstasy, round a lad, whose tarpaulin hat,
blue-bordered collar, and dark blue dress, showed him to be a sailor,
as well as the broad-shouldered, grizzled, elderly man, who stood beside
him.

"I say, sir," said the latter, as Hector's hand was on the door, "do you
belong to Dr. May?"

Hector unhesitatingly answered that he did.

"Then, maybe, sir, you have heard of one Bill Jennings."

Hector was all in one flush, almost choking, as he told that he was Mr.
Ernescliffe's brother, and gave his hand to the sailor. "What could he
do for him?"

Jennings had heard from one of the crew of the Bucephalus that Mr. May
had been met, on his return to Portsmouth, by the news of his sister's
death. The Mays had helped his boy; he had been with Mr. May in the
island; he had laid Mr. Ernescliffe in his grave; and some notion had
crossed the sailor that he must be at Miss Margaret's funeral--it might
be they would let him lend a hand--and, in this expedition, he was
spending his time on shore.

How he was welcomed need not be told, nor how the tears came forth from
full hearts, as Dr. May granted his wish, and thanked him for doing what
Margaret herself would indeed have chosen; and, in his blue sailor garb,
was Jennings added to the bearers, their own men, and two Cocksmoor
labourers, who, early on Christmas Eve, carried her to the minster. Last
time she had been there, Alan Ernescliffe had supported he