Mr. Trevor sat in his dressing-gown cowering over the embers of a scanty fire. He looked feeble and haggard, and altogether might have been taken for many years beyond his real age. It could not be, we know, that grief had thus affected him; but certainly from this period the old enchanter's wand seemed more and more to have been wrested from his hold, some blight to have fallen upon that cruel and covetous man; something which bowed his spirit into the impotence, almost dotage of premature old age; converting the tyrant into the slave--the man of strong passions into the tool of the passions of others--in all respects, indeed, save that which touched in any degree upon the mainspring of his being--the darling lust--which coiled like a serpent round his heart-strings; nothing but the hand of death could tear away his covetousness. How was this? Could it be that the words spoken in the bitterness of his son's agonized spirit, had thus been brought to bear upon him, that he _had_ dared to look upon his dead wife's angel's face, and that the sight had cursed him. "Lo! the spell now works around thee, And the clankless chain has bound thee, O'er thy heart and brain together Hath the word been passed, now wither." He turned round on his son's entrance with a look of nervous dread. "Oh, it is you, Eugene! Marryott has been telling me what is going on up stairs." "Pshaw!" the young man exclaimed, as he threw himself down on a chair, "one must not mind him just now, poor fellow, he is quite distracted." "I should say so, indeed," sneered the woman significantly. "But he will not come here, I hope," continued Mr. Trevor, anxiously. "I desire that he is not allowed to come near me. I cannot, I will not see him!" "No fear of that, Sir," answered the son coldly; "he is not very likely to trouble _you_ with his presence." "Well, well, that's all right; let him rave as much as he likes out of my sight. And now give me a drop of brandy, Marryott, and stir up the fire gently, only just gently. It's very cold." And the victim of conscience cowered and shivered over the scanty flame thus excited. "Eugene, stay!" he continued, "don't you go; I don't like to be left, and there's so much business to be talked over, such trouble and expense." And the miser set about to calculate grudgingly the cost of his wife's funeral. CHAPTER XVII. Oh, lie not down, poor mourner, On the cold earth in despair; Why give the grave thy homage? Does the spirit moulder there? Cling to the Cross, thou lone one, For it hath power to save. If the Christian's hope forsake thee, There's no hope beyond the grave. HAYNES BAYLEY. If it be terrible to look upon the face of the beloved dead in the first hours of dissolution-- "Before decay's effacing finger Hath swept the cheek where beauty lingers,"