Mr. Temple's sudden death had also naturally created great excitement both at Woodlea Hall and at the farm at Woodside. The squire had breakfasted with his wife as usual on the morning it occurred, and about an hour later Mrs. Temple had gone into the library to ask him for some money she required, when to her surprise and alarm she found him with his gray head lying on the writing-table before him, and his arms hanging limply by his side. "Phillip!" she exclaimed, and ran up to him, and laid her hands on his shoulder. But the face that had ever looked gently at her did not stir. Then Mrs. Temple raised his head, and the moment she did so she gave a wild shriek. For there was no mistaking the pallid gray hue of the complexion, or the dull, glazed, half-open eyes. Mr. Temple was dead, and Mrs. Temple, ever impulsive and excitable, ran screaming to the door of the room to tell the news and summon the household. They sent for the doctor, and the newly-made widow knelt by the squire's side and chafed his cold hands, and wailed and wept for the man to whom in his lifetime she had given no love. Now she regretted this, she clung to him, and would fain have recalled him to her side. And presently her mother arrived on the scene and then her father. Mrs. Layton's first thought when she heard the squire was dead was to speculate on how much he had left behind him, and to groan in spirit at the idea that now her daughter would probably have to leave the Hall. "And that John Temple will be coming, I suppose," she whispered to her husband, "and where will we all be?" "My dear, to speak of such things in the presence of death--" began the vicar, mildly. But Mrs. Layton turned her little eager face away from him before he could complete his homily. "I must see after things," she said, which meant a great deal to Mrs. Layton's mind. First she had to induce her daughter to leave the dead man's side and go to her own apartments. Then she ran from room to room, picking up little things here and there that she thought at such a time she could collect without remark. Nothing came wrong to Mrs. Layton! A few sheets of note-paper, an envelope or two, anything in fact that she could lay her hands on. "They will never be missed; they are of no value," she told herself as she gathered her spoil together. She was haunted by the idea that John Temple might arrive at any moment, and that she would not have such another opportunity. The servants were all down-stairs talking of their master's sudden death, and the whole household naturally disarranged. Mrs. Temple was in a state of half-remorseful grief and excitement, and she also was now thinking of the coming of John Temple. "He will be master now, I suppose," she thought bitterly, "and I shall be turned out."