The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. Amongst others who attended the sad ceremony was Mr. Kneebone. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. Overcome by his affliction, Mr. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollen-draper, who following up a maxim of his own, “that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness,” determined to profit by the opportunity. He had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs. Wood from pressing his suit long ago. This obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt. Happen what might, he could not be in a worse position. “We have had a sad loss, my dear Winifred,” he began,--“for I must use the privilege of an old friend, and address you by that familiar name,--we have had a sad loss in the death of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere.” Winifred's eyes filled with tears. This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. So he resolved to try another tack. “What a very remarkable thing it is,” he observed, applying to his snuff-box, “that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,”--Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he _had_ been so,--“should turn out to be alive after all. Strange, I shouldn't know him when he called on me.” “It _is_ strange,” replied Winifred, artlessly. “_I_ knew him at once.” “Of course,” rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, “but that's easily accounted for. May I be permitted, as a very old and very dear friend of your lamented parent, whose loss I shall ever deplore, to ask you one question?” “Undoubtedly,” replied Winifred. “And you will answer it frankly?” “Certainly.” “Now for it,” thought the woollen-draper, “I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies.--Well, then, my dear,” he added aloud, “do you still entertain the strong attachment you did to Captain Darrell?” Winifred's cheeks glowed with blushes, and fixing her eyes, which flashed with resentment, upon the questioner, she said: “I have promised to answer your question, and I will do so. I love him as a brother.” “_Only_ as a brother?” persisted Kneebone. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. “If you knew how much importance I attach to your answer,” he continued passionately, “you would not refuse me one. Were Captain Darrell to offer you his hand, would you accept it?” “Your impertinence deserves very different treatment, Sir,” said Winifred; “but, to put an end to this annoyance, I will tell you--I would not.” “And why not?” asked Kneebone, eagerly. “I will not submit to be thus interrogated,” said Winifred, angrily.