best. The plate upon it
was of silver, or looked like it. There was no room for an equipage
of hearses and black coaches, the house was so unfortunately near
to the churchyard. It was all done in a decent, sombre, useful,
money-making way, as beseemed the remains of such a man.

But it was on 'Change that he was truly buried; in Capel Court that
his funeral sermon was duly preached. These were the souls that knew
him, the ears to which his name loomed large. He had been true and
honest in all his dealings--there, at least. He had hurt nobody by
word or deed--excepting in the way of trade. And had kept his hands
from picking and stealing--from all picking, that is, not warranted
by City usage, and from all stealing that the law regards as such.
Therefore, there, on 'Change, they preached his funeral sermon
loudly, and buried him with all due honours.

Two had been named for the reading of the will, seeing that a train
arrived at 1.45 P.M. And, therefore, when the ceremony was over,
George and Mr. Pritchett had to sit together in the dining-room till
that time arrived. The doctor, who did not expect much from the
will, had gone away, perhaps to prepare other friends for similar
occupation. It was a tedious hour that they so passed, certainly;
but at last it did make itself away. Lunch was brought in; and the
sherry, which had been handed round with biscuits before the funeral,
was again put on the table. Mr. Pritchett liked a glass of sherry,
though it never seemed to have other effect on him than to make his
sadness of a deeper dye. But at last, between this occupation and the
muttering of a few scraps of a somewhat worldly morality, the hour
did wear itself away, and the hand of the old clock pointed to two.

The three gentlemen had come down by the same train, and arrived
in a fly together. Mr. George Stickatit, junior, paid for the
accommodation; which was no more than right, for he could put it in
the bill, and Sir Lionel could not. The mind of Sir Henry was too
much intent on other things to enable him to think about the fly.

"Well, George," said Sir Lionel; "so it's all over at last. My poor
brother! I wish I could have been with you at the funeral; but it was
impossible. The ladies are not here?"--This he added in a whisper.
He could not well talk about Lady Harcourt, and he was not at the
present moment anxious to see Miss Baker.

"They are not here to-day," said George, as he pressed his father's
hand. He