When Mrs. Chandos and her daughters returned to Manora the following day, the funeral had already taken place. The sudden, as it were, departure of Nicky struck them all with a sort of icy chill. Nicky's place was vacant; his chair at table stood empty. Two days previously he had been among them, noisy and cheery; whistling about the bungalow, knocking things over and carpentering; the most active and animated of the whole family--and now he was gone--not down the river to Mr. Salwey's, not into Rajahpore for an hour or two, but gone--gone, never to come back. There were his books, his shabby clothes, his cap, his tennis bat--everywhere they looked their eyes met something to recall Nicky. Nicky had never been his mother's favourite child--Dominga, Blanche, and even Pussy, came far before him; but her grief was loud, ceaseless and unreasoning. She had long fits of frantic screaming that nothing would subdue, and poor old Mrs. Lopez, who was heartbroken at the death of her darling, vainly endeavoured to soothe her. Good Mrs. Cavalho, true angel in cases of sickness and death, tried her best to comfort them both. At times, such was Mrs. Chandos's grief, that she was as if demented, tossing her head from side to side, and crying out: "Oh, my poor boy! Oh, my poor boy! He is dead! And that is not the worst--oh, you do not know the worst! Oh, my poor boy! my poor boy!" These cries were looked upon as the delirious ravings of a grief-stricken mother; no one could make out, or even attempted to understand, what Mrs. Chandos meant by saying: "Oh, you do not know the worst! Oh, you do not know the worst!" And one thing no one ever knew. It was never discovered who it was that tied a well-rope across the road, where it was so dark under the peepul trees, and thereby caused the death of Black Baber, and Nicky Chandos. The shock of his son's death appeared to have aroused Mr. Chandos from his condition of mental stupor. As he stood by the graveside, a dignified, pathetic figure in deep mourning, many now looked upon Paul Chandos for the first time. Although the hand of affliction was heavy upon him, and he was worn and weary-eyed, there was an indefinable distinction in his air, and people were quite prepared to believe the fable, that he was the next heir to an ancient name and great estate. CHAPTER XXXVII