As he held the candle up to this picture, still scanning its features, the door slowly opened, and Martha Tansey, arrayed in a black silk dress of a fashion some twenty years out of date, came in. He set down the candle, and took the old woman's hand, and greeted her very kindly. "How's a' wi' you, Master Richard? A dowly house ye've come too. Ye didna look to see this sa soon?" "Very sudden, Martha--awfully sudden. I could not let the day pass without coming out to see you." "Not me, Master Richard, but to ha'e a last look at the face of the father that begot ye. He'll be shrouded and coffined by this time--the light 'ill not be lang on that face. The lid will be aboon it and screwed down to-morrow, I dar' say. Ay, there goes the undertaker's men; and there's a man from Mr. Paller--Mr. Plumes is his name--that says he'll stay till your Uncle David comes, for he told him he had something very particular to say to him; and I desired him to wait in my room after his business about the poor master was over; and the a'ad things is passin' awa' and it's time auld Martha was fittin' herself." "Don't say that, Martha, unless you would have me think you expect to find me less kind than my father was." "There's good and there's bad in every one, Master Richard. Ye can't take it in meal and take it in malt. A bit short-waisted he was, there's no denyin', and a sharp word now and again; but none so hard to live wi' as many a one that was cooler-tempered, and more mealy-mouthed; and I think ye were o'er hard wi' him, Master Richard. Ye should have opened the estate. It was that killed him," she continued considerately. "Ye broke his heart, Master Richard; he was never the same man after he fell out wi' you." "Some day, Martha, you'll learn all about it," said he gently. "It was no fault of mine--ask my Uncle David. I'm not the person to persuade you; and, beside, I have not courage to talk over that cruel quarrel now." "Come and see him," said the old woman grimly, taking up the candle. "No, Martha, no; set it down again--I'll not go." "And when will you see him?" "Another time--not now--I can't." "He's laid in his coffin now; they'll be out again in the mornin'. If you don't see him now, ye'll never see him; and what will the folk down in Yorkshire say, when it's told at Arden Court that Master Richard never looked on his dead father's face, nor saw more of him after his flittin' than the plate on his coffin. By Jen! 'twill stir the blood o' the old tenants and gar them clench their fists and swear, I warrant, at the very sound o' yer name; for there never was an Arden died yet, at Arden Court, but he was waked, and treated wi' every respect, and visited by every living soul of his kindred, for ten mile round." "If you think so, Martha, say no more. I'll--go as well now as another time--and, as you say, sooner or later it must be done." CHAPTER LI. THE SILHOUETTE.