“Ferdinand,” he repeated; “I thought he was here. I don’t want to see him.” His words came with difficulty. “Send him away. Tell him he has brought down my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.” Lady Montella bent over the bed. “Ferdinand is not here,” she repeated, in a low voice. “We do not know where he is; but if we can find him, will you not forgive him?” “No. He shall not have a penny.” His words grew fainter. “He is no more my son. He sold—his—birthright—for—a mess of pottage.” Raie listened with all her ears, but the dying man did not speak again, and soon fell into the lethargy which preceded the end. The physician came again, but the baronet was beyond the reach of human aid. At two o’clock in the afternoon Lady Montella was led out of the room, half-fainting. Sir Julian was dead. Raie had never been in a house of death before, for her father had been drowned at sea. She was too shy to go in to her foster-aunt at once, and wandered in and out of the darkened reception rooms as if she were unable to rest. The household was in a state of confusion, for it was Friday, and therefore necessary that the preliminary burial rites should be performed before the Sabbath fell. She heard Lionel and the minister arrange the details, and afterwards she saw the repulsive-looking _wachers_[4] who had come to stay with the body until Sunday, when the funeral would take place. There were people coming and going all the afternoon, and she was obliged to have her tea in solitude. After it was over she was sent for to Lady Montella’s boudoir. Footnote 4: Professional watchers by the dead. She obeyed the summons without delay, and clung to her foster-aunt with the tears welling up in her eyes. When the first outburst of emotion was over, Lady Montella asked her if she would like to go home until after the funeral; it would be so very dull for her in the house of mourning. Raie conquered her first impulse and decided to remain. She did not feel justified in leaving Lady Montella alone in her sorrow. It was indeed a dull week. In accordance with Jewish usage all the blinds in the flat were kept down for seven days instead of being pulled up directly after the funeral. The principal mourners, including two of Sir Julian’s sisters, sat on low chairs to lament and receive the condolences of their friends, whilst near by a tiny float burned in a glass of oil as a memorial of the dead. Every evening a service was held in the drawing-room, attended by most of the Jewish gentlemen of the Montellas’ acquaintance, and not a few strangers. It was Lionel’s melancholy duty to say _Kaddish_ for his father, which prayer he would have to repeat daily until his term of mourning expired.