Her tone and manner frightened Mrs. Layton. "I only meant, my dear--" she began. "Go away, leave me alone!" went on Mrs. Temple, and Mrs. Layton thought it best to go. "She has no common sense," she reflected as she went back to the vicarage. "However, I have done my duty, and whatever happens I am not to blame." But in spite of this "little disagreement" with her daughter, as she called it, Mrs. Layton did not fail to appear the next day at the Hall. She went early, "as of course I must see after the sad arrangements," she told her husband, "as Rachel is quite incapable of doing so, and I consider Mrs. Borridge, the housekeeper, anything but what she ought to be." So she interfered in the sad arrangements, and she saw John Temple, the new heir, arrive with jealous eyes. She admitted, however, that he was good-looking, "which makes it worse," she mentally added. She saw also the squire receive him, and introduce him to the funeral guests as "my nephew," with a certain sad emphasis on the words that Mrs. Layton fully understood. All the gentlemen in the neighborhood had been invited, and nearly all arrived at the Hall to follow poor young Phillip Temple to his grave. The squire of Woodlea was universally respected, and the guests looked at his bowed gray head, and grasped his thin trembling hand with deep sympathy. It was a truly affecting sight as the slim coffin was borne into the churchyard followed by the childless old man. As on the day of the poor lad's death the sun was shining brightly, and in the pretty spot where they laid him, green trees were dappling the green grass. Groups of the villagers stood around to watch the sad procession, and talk of the dead boy. They had all known him; he had grown up in their midst, and the tragic accident that had ended in his death had occurred in a field close to the churchyard. John Temple stood by his uncle's side during the service, and he noticed just at its close a girl dressed in white, and wearing white ribbons, step forward and approach the open grave. She was carrying a large white wreath, and her eyes were full of tears, and she hesitated as if she did not like to go through the group of mourners around the grave. She was close to John Temple, and he turned round and addressed her. "Do you wish to place that wreath in the grave?" he said, kindly. "Yes, but I--" faltered the girl. "Shall I place it for you?" asked John Temple. "Oh, thank you, if you would," she answered, gratefully. He took it from her hands, and laid it gently and reverently on his young cousin's coffin. There were many other flowers, and as John Temple placed hers, the girl took courage and went up close to the grave and looked in. "He was so fond of flowers," she said in a low tone, and her tears fell fast. "Poor boy," answered John Temple, and then he looked at the girl and wondered who she was.