He became Mr. Haveloc's guest for a week, and managed to pass the time tolerably well considering that he was away from all his horses. In that retired spot, he did not feel obliged to confine himself to the house; he took to shooting sea-gulls, and obtained some little skill with the rifle. He watched over the Norwegian pony, and endeavoured to feel some interest in his proceedings; he helped Mr. Haveloc to feed him from the window with bread, and tried to bear in mind that he was a horse, and therefore an object of respect and importance. He wandered about the gardens and ate the fruit, and went out in a boat to visit the yacht; and expressed a wish to buy her, and gave up the idea, because he was not sure whether Lucy cared about cruising; and whenever his host appeared dejected, he endeavoured to condole with him, and very fortunately, was never able to do so, on account of his stammering. And during the week that he stayed, he was known to write a letter; but literature was not his forte, and nobody ever saw him take up a book. Whenever Mr. Haveloc went to the cottage to inquire after Mrs. Fitzpatrick, he desired that his compliments and inquiries might be added to his own; and he usually inquired, at the same time, if Mrs. Fitzpatrick was not a very fine woman, adding that such was his recollection of her some years ago. The day of the funeral arrived. Lord Raymond and Mr. Haveloc were the only persons who attended it. Mrs. Fitzpatrick had desired to do so, but she had been peremptorily forbidden by her friend, Mr. Lindsay, and she acquiesced. Her spirit was too broken to attempt opposition, even in a thing of trifling importance. She sent a few lines to Lord Raymond, thanking him for his kindness, but she declined the visit which he volunteered to pay her. She entertained a very reasonable estimate of the condolences of a stranger. Two or three weeks elapsed before she could nerve herself sufficiently to admit Mr. Haveloc; but, at last, fearing that he might leave the neighbourhood without her seeing him, she appointed him to come. Mr. Lindsay was with her in the drawing-room; she looked dreadfully ill, and her hand was as cold as ice. Mr. Haveloc took a chair beside her, and in vain tried to speak. There was something so absolute in her bereavement, that he was dumb before her; he felt the influence, for the first time, of that grief that "makes its owner great." It fell to Mr. Lindsay to sustain the conversation. "So you have not parted with your yacht yet, Mr. Haveloc," he said, "we shall lose a pretty object when she leaves this part of the coast." "No; I had nearly an opportunity of getting rid of her lately," said Mr. Haveloc, "I thought Lord Raymond would have--" And he stopped suddenly, remembering that Lord Raymond had come to him expressly to attend Aveline's funeral. "Ay--you find, like many other people, that it is much easier to purchase a toy than to part with it." "Exactly."