The fact was he wanted to be left alone, to think over the strange adventures in the forest, to dwell with unceasing wistfulness on the beautiful face and sweet, musical voice. So he clung to the inn; taking a morning dip in the river; strolling about, with his brier pipe in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, exchanging a word with this man and the other, and bestowing his odd change on any children he happened to meet. Sometimes he would drop in at one of the cottages, where he was so welcome when a boy, and smoke and chat; but usually he kept to his room. But wherever he went he was the observed of all observers. Every night the little club that met in the "Bush" parlor talked about him, and wondered why he didn't go to the Hurst, and whether he would be the new squire. The day of the funeral arrived at last--a cold, wet day, that foreshadowed the approaching autumn; and Jack put on his black suit--made by the village tailor who had described Stephen as a nice-spoken gentleman--and went up to the Hurst. It was the first time he had been near it since the night he had the scuffle with Stephen on the lawn; and, to Jack's eyes, it looked gloomier than ever. As he entered the hall, a shrunken figure in shabby black came to meet him; it was old Skettle, Hudsley's clerk. The old man peered at him curiously, and made him a respectful bow in response to Jack's blunt greeting, and opened the library door. Mr. Hudsley was standing at the table, and looked up with his wrinkled face and keen eyes--not a trace of expression beyond keenness in them. Jack shook hands with him and looked around. "Where is Stephen?" he said. As he spoke the door opened and Stephen entered. Jack, frank and candid, stared at him with astonishment. "Are we ready?" And they passed out. In silence they stood beside the grave while all that was mortal of Ralph Davenant was consigned to the earth, and in silence they returned to the library. With the same stony, impassive countenance, Mr. Hudsley seated himself at the head of the table; Stephen sank into a chair beside him, and sat with his eyes hidden under the white lids; Jack stood with folded arms beside the window, glancing at the far-stretching lawns and watching the servants as they filed in, a long line of black. When they had all entered Mr. Hudsley drew from his pocket a folded parchment, slowly put on his spectacles, and without looking round, said: "I am now about to read the last will and testament of Ralph Davenant." There was a pause, a solemn pause, then he looked up and said: "This will was drawn up by me on January--last year. It is the last will of which I have any cognizance. A careful search has been made, but no other document of the kind has been found. That is so, Mr. Stephen, is it not?" and he turned to Stephen so suddenly that all eyes followed his. Stephen paused a moment, then raised his lids, and with a shake of his head and a sigh murmured an assent.