Godfrey Heron's death had happened so suddenly that the news of it

scarcely got beyond the radius of the estate before the following

morning, and Stafford had gone to London in ignorance of this second

blow with which Fate had followed up the one he had dealt Ida: and when

the neighbours--the Vaynes, the Bannerdales, and the Avorys--came

quickly and readily enough to offer their sympathy and help, they could

do nothing. The girl solitary and lonely in her grief as she had been

solitary and lonely through her life, would see no one but the doctor

and Mr. Wordley, and the people who had once been warm and intimate

friends of the family left reluctantly and sully, to talk over the

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melancholy circumstance, and to wonder what would become of the

daughter of the eccentric man who had lived the life of a recluse. Mr.

Wordley would have liked to have persuaded her to see some of the women

who had hastened to comfort her; but he knew that any attempt at

persuasion would have been in vain, that he would not have been able to

break down the barrier of reserve which the girl had instinctively and

reservedly erected between her suffering soul and the world. His heart

ached for her, and he did all that a man could do to lighten the burden

of her trouble; but there was very little that he could do beyond

superintending the necessary arrangements for the funeral.

His first thought was of the relatives; but, somewhat to his own

dismay, he found that the only one whom he could trace was a certain

cousin, a more than middle-aged man who, though he bore the name of

Heron, was quite unknown to Ida, and, so far as Mr. Wordley was aware,

had not crossed the threshold of the Hall for many years. He was a

certain John Heron, a retired barrister, who had gone in for religion,

not in the form of either of the Established Churches, but of that of

one of the least known sects, the members of which called themselves

some kind of brothers, were supposed to be very strict observers of the

Scriptural law, and were considered by those who did not belong to them

both narrow-minded and uncharitable.

Mr. John Heron was a prominent member of this little sect, and was

famous in its small circles for his extreme sanctity and his eloquence

as a lay preacher. Mr. Wordley, with much misgiving, had invited this,

the only relative he could find, to the funeral, and Ida was now

awaiting this gentleman's arrival.

The stealthy footsteps which belong to those who minister to the dead

passed up and down the great house, Jason was setting out the simple

"funeral baked meats" which are considered appropriate to the occasion,

and Mr. Wordley paced up and down the hall with his hands behind his

back, listening to the undertaker's men upstairs, and glancing through

the window in expectation of the carriage which had been sent for Mr.

John Heron. Presently he saw it rounding a bend of the drive, and went

into the library to prepare Ida.




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