He had the corpse conveyed to Barrington, and placed in the family vault, and erected a monument--very beautiful, indeed--beside the one he had already placed there in memory of his son, inscribed: To LOUISA, the beloved wife of Arthur, only son of LORD BARRINGTON OF BARRINGTON, Aged 16 years. He also placed another in the little burying-place at Z----: In memory of ARTHUR, only son of LORD BARRINGTON, of Barrington Park, England, aged 23 years, who was suddenly attacked with a fatal fever, in a foreign land, when on his way home. When Lady Ashton arrived, shortly afterwards, and heard what had taken place, she was in a terrible fume. "Oh! my dear, what a misfortune. How unlucky for her to come here: why did you let her stay, Charles?" "Why did I let her stay? Say, rather, why did you send her away?" "Yes, why did you let her stay?" she repeated, angrily. "Why did you not let her go to the hospital?" "Or die in the street," added Charles, scarcely able to keep his temper, for he was angry and hurt to think how Louisa had been treated. "Goodness knows what people will say: no doubt all kinds of strange stories will be circulated. I feel for you, Ada, my dear; I do, indeed." "Don't be alarmed, my dear mother, as to rumors and strange stories," said Charles, handing her a newspaper, and pointing out the following: DIED.--At the residence of Charles Ashton, Esq. LOUISA, wife of the late Hon. Arthur Barrington, and grand-daughter of Sir Edward Ashton of Brierley. "Charles, how dared you?" cried his mother, reddening with anger, "your father will be excessively angry." "I cannot help that: it is the truth, is it not?" "True? of course you know it is; but, for all that, you need not have published it in that absurd manner." "I thought it best." "And you are simple enough to think that that notice will prevent absurd stories getting abroad." "As to who she might be, yes; and, as to the circumstances that brought her here, I presume you would prefer any, rather than the right ones, should be assigned." Lady Ashton was for once abashed, and her eye dropped beneath the severity of her son's gaze; but, recovering quickly, she answered, "you, at least, have nothing to do with that." "I am thankful to say I have not," he returned, "I cannot forget it, it makes me perfectly wretched; and, but that I know that Ada has her own home to go to, if anything happened to me I don't know what I should do. I shall insure my life this very day, that she may be independent. If a daughter's child could be so treated, why not a son's wife." For goodness' sake stop, Charles!" cried his mother, "don't talk so dreadfully."