"We must look at what has happened as a dispensation of heaven," he remarked; "but though, unhappily, your father to the last refused the ordinances of our Church, I am fain to believe that he did so under malign influence, and from weakness of mind induced by sickness. It is a consolation to know that prayers continually offered in his behalf by a true votaress to the loving Mother of God can in time release him from the condition in which I fear he is placed. With what thankfulness you should receive this glorious doctrine, my dear Miss Maynard! what calm should it bring to your troubled heart! I will not fail, believe me, to offer the prayers of the Church for the same object; and if you did but consider their efficacy, you would cease to mourn as you now do." Poor Clara was too completely overwhelmed by grief to understand the meaning of what the vicar said, though she heard the words issuing from his mouth. "I will relieve you," he continued, "from all the painful arrangements connected with the funeral, in conjunction with your aunt, whom I will now join in the drawing-room." "Oh! thank you! thank you!" exclaimed Clara, between her sobs. "I shall be most grateful--do whatever you think best." Mr Lerew retired; and after a conversation of some length with Miss Pemberton he drove away. Clara--so absorbing was her grief--could with difficulty regain her power of thought. She felt alone in the world. Had General Caulfield been at home, she would have had him to consult; but she had no confidence in her Aunt Sarah's judgment, though she had of late been more guided by her than she was aware of. "Our excellent vicar and I have arranged everything," said Miss Pemberton, on entering the room some time afterwards; "so do not further trouble yourself about the matter." Clara expressed her thanks to her aunt. Completely prostrate, she remained in bed. Workmen sent by the vicar came to the house, and were employed for some time in her father's room. She dared not inquire what they were about. At length she arose and dressed. She felt a longing desire once more to gaze on those dear features. She inquired whether she might go to the room. "Oh, yes, miss," was the answer. "It's all done up on purpose, and looks so grand." She hurried on, and, entering, what was her astonishment to find the room draped in black, the windows closed, and several long wax candles arranged round the bed on which her father's body lay, dressed in his naval uniform. She approached, and leant over the bed, on which, after standing gazing at his features for some minutes, she sank down with her arms extended, almost fainting. At that instant the vicar appeared at the doorway. "What a lovely picture!" he whispered, as if to himself; "can anything surpass it?" Clara heard him, and had still strength sufficient to rise.