“We feel that the only kindness we can do you, dear Mrs. Osborne, is to leave you alone as quickly as possible,” said Lord Hartmore, who was a very dignified person, and generally took the lead--and he was followed by the other potentates, who withdrew almost hurriedly, avoiding Gervase as much as possible, as he stood swaying from one foot to another, with a half laugh of mingled vacuity and embarrassment. Gervase was rather disappointed that they should all go away. It was rarely that he had seen so many people gathered together under his father’s roof. He tried to detain one or two of them who gave him a second grasp of the hand as they passed him. “You’re going very soon. Won’t you stay and have something?” Gervase said. Colonel Piercey was standing outside the door of the library as they began to come out, and Lord Hartmore gave him a very significant look, and a still more significant grasp of the hand. “That,” he said with emphasis, with a backward movement of his head to indicate the room he had just quitted, “is the saddest sight of all,”--and there was a little pause of the gentlemen about the door, a group closed up the entrance to the room, all full of something to say, which none of them ventured to put into words; all relieving themselves with shaking of heads and meaning looks. “Poor Sir Giles! I have the sincerest sympathy with him,” said Lord Hartmore, “the partner of his life gone, and so little comfort in the poor son.” They grasped Gerald Piercey’s hand, one by one, in a sort of chorus, grouping round the open door.