nly to think, master never seeing a soul, and living all
these years in this great shut-up house, and then, as soon as the
breath's out of his body, all these relatives turning up."

"Where the carcase is, there the eagles are gathered together," said
cook, solemnly.

"Oh, don't talk like that, cook."

"You're not obliged to listen, my dear," said cook, rubbing her knees
gently.

"I declare, it's been grievous to me," continued the housemaid, "all
those beautiful rooms, full of splendid furniture, and one not allowed
to do more than keep 'em just clean. Not a blind drawn up, or a window
opened. It's always been as if there was a funeral in the house. Think
master was crossed in love?"

"No. Not he. Mr Ramo said that master was twice over married to great
Indian princesses, abroad. I s'pose they left him all their money. Oh,
here is Mr Ramo!"

The door had opened, and a tall, thin old Hindoo, with piercing dark
eyes and wrinkled brown face, came softly in. He was dressed in a long,
dark, red silken cassock, that seemed as if woven in one piece, and
fitted his spare form rather closely from neck to heel; a white cloth
girdle was tied round his waist, and for sole ornament there were a
couple of plain gold rings in his ears.

As he entered he raised his thin, largely-veined brown hands to his
closely-cropped head, half making the native salaam, and then, said in
good English:

"Mr Preenham not here?"

"He'll be back directly, Mr Ramo," said the cook. "There, there, do
sit down, you look worn out."

The Hindoo shook his head and walked to the window, which looked out
into an inner area.

At that moment the butler entered, and the Hindoo turned to him quickly,
and laid his hand upon his arm.

"There, there, don't fret about it, Mr Ramo," said the butler. "It's
what we must all come to--some day."

"Yes, but this, this," said the Hindoo, in a low, excited voice. "Is--
is it right?"

The butler was silent for a few moments.

"Well," he said at last, "it's right, and its wrong, as you may say.
It's master's own orders, for there it was in his own handwriting in his
desk. `Instructions for my solicitor.' Mr Girtle showed it me, being
an old family servant."

"Yes, yes--he showed it to me."

"Oh, it was all there," continued the butler. "Well, as I was saying,
it's right so far; but it's wrong, because it's not like a Christian
burial."

"No, no," cried the Hindoo, excitedly. "Those men--t