It was well for Cecil Vavasour that he had not left to “the last” the duty of preparing for the end; for the time allowed him for such preparation was short indeed. On his bed of death he found courage to speak very frankly to the wife who stood shocked, miserably disappointed, and perhaps at that supreme moment remorseful, by his side. In few but solemn words he committed his children to her care. They would, under God, who is the Father of the fatherless, be hers only now, hers to guide, to counsel, and to instruct. On her and on her only would rest, so the dying man in his feverish anxiety declared to her, their well-being both in this transitory life and in that to which _he_ was hastening; and as she should do her duty by his treasures, so, prayed the feeble voice with touching fervour, might He who judgeth all men have mercy upon her in the world that is to come! They were his last words. After a faintly-whispered farewell to the old servants, who were weeping near the door, there remained but the silent pressure of the death-cold hand, a quiver of the pale lips, as one by one his children bent their young fresh faces to receive the parting kiss, and the spirit of Cecil Vavasour entered into its rest. There was a grand funeral, at which Lady Millicent, in the longest and _crapiest_ of robes, and utterly devoid of crinoline, assisted, leading her eldest son by the hand, and looking the bereaved and grieving widow to perfection. There were many true mourners in the crowd that followed Cecil Vavasour to the grave, and not a few of these were of opinion that true sorrow shuns a multitude, and that the newly-made widow who _can_ follow her husband’s ashes to their last resting-place has not very dearly loved him in his lifetime. Be this as it may--and it is after all as hard to judge the feelings of others as it is to estimate their powers of self-control--the Lady Millicent, surrounded by her children, did conduct herself at her dead husband’s funeral with a very praiseworthy amount of dignified self-command. Among those who had been Cecil Vavasour’s friends and acquaintances there were grave faces and regretful hearts; but the poor wept for him; and the time soon came, after he had departed from among them, when folk of all degrees began to see clearly what manner of man he had been of whom during his unobtrusive life they had known so little. CHAPTER III. EVERY DOG HAS ITS DAY.