Mr. Burge took a seat—not one of the ordinary chairs which Mrs. Fiander indicated with a general wave of the hand, but poor Elias’s own particular one, which was, as has been stated, established in the chimney-corner. It happened to be directly opposite to the one in which Rosalie had been sitting—Isaac Sharpe’s usual chair—and was no doubt chosen by the visitor on account of its agreeable proximity to his hostess. Anybody more unlike its former occupant it would be hard to imagine. Andrew was, as has been said, tall and stout, with black eyes, closely resembling boot-buttons in size and expression, a florid complexion, and very sleek black hair. He conveyed a general impression of bursting out of his clothes; his coat appearing to be too tight, his trousers too short, his collar too high, and his hat, when he wore it, too small. This hat he carefully placed upon the ground between his legs, and drew from its crown a large white pocket-handkerchief, which he flourished almost in a professional manner. ‘I feels,’ he went on, attuning his voice to the melancholy tone in harmony with this proceeding—‘I feels that any condoliences, let them be so sincere as they may, falls immaterially short of the occasion. The late Mr. Elias Fiander was universally respected by the townsfolk of Branston as well as by his own immediate neighbours.’ ‘You are very kind,’ said Rosalie, feeling that she must make a remark, and inwardly chiding herself for the frenzied impatience with which she had longed to turn him out of her husband’s chair. After all, the poor young man was unconscious of offence, and meant well. ‘It was, I may say, Mrs. Fiander, a object of congratulation to me that I was able to pay the deceased a last melancholy tribute. P’r’aps you did n’t chance to observe that it was me druv the ’earse?’ ‘I knew I had seen you there,’ said the widow, in a low voice, ‘but I could n’t for the moment recollect where.’ ‘It would ha’ fallen in better wi’ my own wishes,’ went on Andrew, ‘if I could ha’ driven both o’ you. But my father told me you did n’t fancy the notion o’ the Jubilee ’earse.’ ‘You mean that combined hearse and mourning coach?’ cried Rosalie. ‘No, indeed! Why, the coffin is put crosswise behind the driver’s legs, just like a bale of goods. I think it’s dreadful!’ ‘Nay now,’ returned Andrew, ‘we are most careful to show every respect to the pore corpse. The compartment is made special—glazed, and all quite beautiful. Some people thinks it a privilege for the mourners to be sittin’ behind, so close to their dear departed. And then think of the expense it saves—only one pair of horses needed, you know! Not but what expense is no object to _you_; and of course, your feelin’s bein’ o’ that delicate natur’, you felt, I suppose, it would be almost too ‘arrowing.’ ‘I know I could n’t bear the idea,’ she cried. ‘The _Jubilee_ hearse, do you call it? How came you to give it such a name?’