The only attendants at old Mr. Bertram's funeral were his nephew, Mr. Pritchett, and the Hadley doctor. The other gentlemen were to be present only at the more interesting ceremony of reading the will. Sir Lionel had written to say that he was rather unwell; that he certainly would come up from Littlebath so as to be present at the latter performance; but that the very precarious¹ state of his health, and the very inconvenient² hours of the trains, unhappily prevented him from paying the other last sad duty to his brother's remains³. Sir Henry Harcourt had plainly demanded at what hour the will would be read; and Mr. Stickatit, junior—Mr. George Stickatit—of the firm of Dry and Stickatit, had promised to be at Hadley punctually at two p.m. And he kept his word.

Mr. Pritchett came down by an early train, and, as was fit on such an occasion, was more melancholy⁴ than usual. He was very melancholy and very sad, for he felt that that half-million of money was in a great jeopardy⁵; and, perhaps, even the death of his old friend of forty years' standing⁶ may have had some effect on him. It was a mingled⁷ feeling that pervaded⁸ him. "Oh, Mr. George!" he said, just before they went to the churchyard, "we are grass of the field, just grass of the field; here to-day, and gone to-morrow; flourishing in the morning, and cast into the oven before night! It behoves such frail⁹, impotent creatures to look close after their interests—half a million of money! I'm afraid you didn't think enough about it, Mr. George."

And then the Hadley bells were rung again; but they were not rung loudly. It seemed to Bertram that no one noticed that anything more than usually sad was going on. He could hardly realise it to himself that he was going to put under the ground almost his nearest relative. The bells rang out a

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