When he had solemnly pronounced the names, giving full weight to every syllable, the old servant ranged himself by the wall, to see the effect of his announcement; he watched complacently while the visitors entered after him in panoply of woe, with looks wrought up to the requisite pitch of sympathetic solemnity. It was, as Fleming said afterwards, as good as a sermon to see the Doctor. He had come to condole, and he was fully prepared to do so. Resignation and submission--that comfortable resignation which can support with so much dignity the losses of others--was in every fold of his dress, in the lines of his composed countenance, decently sad, but not gloomy, as became a man who sorrowed not without hope. To old Fleming, the Minister’s aspect was a thorough enjoyment. It was the sort of thing which was befitting to a house of mourning; not the hot grief which refused to be comforted, and abjured food and carnal consolation, like that passion of sorrow which possessed his master; but a legitimate and subdued sentiment, which fulfilled all proprieties, and was an example to all beholders. Mrs. Murray was not so satisfactory. She came in crying softly, and took Marjory into her arms, who--thus caught on the very verge of going out, and making an effort after amusement, was confused, as if she had been doing something amiss. “My poor Marjory! my poor bairn!” said Mrs. Murray; while May, though the tears started from her eyes, felt as if she must cry out in self-accusation, and confess that for that moment she had not been thinking of Tom. Then they all sat down in a circle, of which Dr. Murray was the centre. Mr. Charles had shuffled hastily out of his fireside corner, and had come forward to shake hands, with a certain solemn _empressement_, which was the proper way in which members of the family should receive such a visit. Fanshawe stole away behind backs, and sat down again by little Milly; but Milly, with a dreadful recollection of that laugh, avoided him, and fixed her eyes upon the Minister--for what would happen if, under sore press of temptation, she was to make such a terrible mistake again? “And how is your father, Miss Marjory?” said the Doctor; “far from well, I fear? He had a shaken look yesterday at church that grieved my heart to see. No doubt it is a great affliction, a very sore stroke from the Almighty; but we must remember that it is the Almighty, and that it is not our place to repine.” “No doubt, no doubt; that is true,” said Mr. Charles, acquiescing solemnly. It was a thing incumbent on him in his representative position as the only man of the house. “I don’t think my father means to repine,” said Marjory. “His heart is just broken; he never thought of it--never expected such a thing as that he should live, and poor Tom be taken away!”