buried in
most sombre tokens of affliction. Under the deep crape of their heavy
black bonnets were to be seen that chiefest sign of heavy female
woe--a widow's cap. What signal of sorrow that grief holds out, ever
moves so much as this? Their eyes were red with weeping, as could
be seen when, for a moment, their deep bordered handkerchiefs were
allowed to fall from their faces. Their eyes were red with weeping,
and the agonizing grief of domestic bereavement sat chiselled on
every feature. If you stood near enough, your heart would melt at the
sound of their sobs.

Alas! that forms so light, that creatures so young, should need to be
shrouded in such vestments! They were all crape, that dull, weeping,
widow's crape, from the deck up to their shoulders. There they stood,
monuments of death, living tombs, whose only sign of life was in
their tears. There they stood, till they might fall, vanquished by
the pangs of memory, into the arms of their respective relations.

They were Mrs. Cox and Mrs. Price. Bertram and Wilkinson, as they
passed them, lifted their hats and bowed, and the two ladies
observing them, returned their salutation with the coldest propriety.

CHAPTER XI.

I COULD PUT A CODICIL.

On their journey up from Southampton, George and Arthur parted from
each other. George went on direct to London, whereas Arthur turned
off from Basingstoke towards his own home.

"Take my advice now, if you never do again," said Bertram, as they
parted; "make yourself master of your own house, and as soon after as
possible make her the mistress of it."

"That's easily said, old fellow," repeated the other.

"Make the attempt, at any rate. If I am anything of a prophet, it
won't be in vain;" and so they parted.

At Southampton they had learnt that there had been a partial crash in
the government. The prime minister had not absolutely walked forth,
followed by all his satellites, as is the case when a successful turn
in the wheel gives the outs a full whip-hand over the ins, but it had
become necessary to throw overboard a brace or two of Jonahs, so that
the ship might be lightened to meet a coming storm; and among those
so thrown over had been our unfortunate friend Sir Henry Harcourt.

And this, as regards him, had hardly been the worst of it. We all
know that bigwigs are never dismissed. When it becomes necessary to
get rid of them, they resign. Now resignation is clearly a voluntary
act, and it seemed that