Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Love stories; Maryland -- Fiction; Mystery fiction
Mr. Eldon extended a plump, warm hand. "So glad you were able to get
here," he whispered. "This is Mrs. Eldon. You must sit with Miss Trevor
and Betty; wait, and I'll explain it to them."
The clergyman in his robes was standing at the door, and the service was
about to begin. I took my designated position, walking immediately
behind the two chief mourners; and we followed the great, black
cloth-covered coffin into the stillness of the sacred edifice.
The committal office was said at the graveside in the Hildebrand family
plot, a walled enclosure set off from the general churchyard and
entered through a lych-gate beautifully fashioned from black bog oak
that resembled ebony in color and closeness of grain. Strange, how the
attention strays even upon occasions such as this; for I found myself
contemplating the lych-gate with absorbed interest, trying to think
where I had seen its prototype; doubtless in some English parish
churchyard. Then, as I heard the symbolic clod falling from the hand of
the officiating minister, I recalled myself to reality--earth to earth,
dust to dust. The slender, black-garbed figure on my right shook
slightly and swayed against my shoulder; instantly I put out my hand to
steady her. Up to this moment my participation in the ceremony had been
of a purely formal nature, but now some underlying and compelling force
was drawing me into the circle of sorrow; the dead man was of my blood,
and this was the passing of something in the universe that was akin to
my very self.
John Thaneford had not been present at the interment. After the church
service he had met and engaged Mr. Eldon in earnest conversation for
perhaps half a minute; then he had taken a visibly hurried departure.
The funeral party returned to the church, and the coaches drove up to
the carriage-block. "This is Mr. Hugh Hildebrand," announced Mr. Eldon,
as he presented me to the two ladies. "Miss Graeme and Miss Trevor," he
continued with a touch of old-time courtliness, his top-hat held at a
strictly ceremonious angle, "Mr. Hildebrand."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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