Semple, she found, had not arrived; nor did he return until late in the evening. Miss Lindsay, fortunately, was still upstairs. As the evening advanced, however, she came down, and ordered tea, in lieu of dinner, for Laura and herself. Then she went to the library and fetched two volumes of sermons, one of which she gave to Laura, while she sat down to study the other. One by one the slow hours went by, till nine o’clock struck, and then Laura went to bed, where she lay reading ‘The Mystery of the Manor House,’ till the cold compelled her to lay the book down. Next day the dressmakers came with the half-finished mourning dresses, and that was a great relief; and so the time passed until the day of the funeral. It was a small and a melancholy company. Mr. Hatchett was there, Mr. Beattie having told him that the estate was a large one, and it would be well that he should be on the spot. The physician was there; also Mr. Andrew Simpson and Mr. Nicol Carnegie, two old friends of Mr. James Lindsay’s whom he had named as his executors, and James Semple, of course. Alec Lindsay was not sufficiently recovered for the doctor to allow him to attend the funeral; and his father was deterred from making the long journey to London by a sharp attack of rheumatism. Dr. Mackenzie, however, had come from Scotland, as well as a Dr. George Adamson, who was one of the trustees for the Free Kirk. The clergyman at the cemetery hurried over the last words of the prayers. Another funeral was due in ten minutes, and the curate was anxious to warm himself thoroughly at the fire in the clerk’s office before he began to read the service for the fourth time that day. Soon the dismal task was ended. James Lindsay was laid in his native dust; and the mourners felt relieved as they mounted the steps of the mourning-coaches, to be driven back to the house. When they had all taken their seats in the dining-room, which felt chilly in spite of a roaring fire, wine and cake were handed round, while Mr. Hatchett, who had brought the will in the pocket of his overcoat, made a formal search among James Lindsay’s papers for another testament. He was still busy in the library when Miss Lindsay and Laura entered the dining-room. Miss Mowbray walked slowly, with downcast eyes. She knew that her mourning dress was very becoming to her, and she secretly determined to be often in mourning, or half-mourning, at least, in the future. Dr. Mackenzie met the two ladies, and conducted Laura to a seat; while Mr. Carnegie, an old acquaintance of Miss Lindsay’s, came forward and led her to a chair. ‘This is a very sad event, Miss Mowbray,’ said Dr. Mackenzie, seating himself. ‘It is indeed,’ answered the girl in a subdued tone, lifting her eyes for a moment to the minister’s face. ‘And it is one which may happen to any of us at any time. It is well to be prepared.’ ‘Oh, I am sure Mr. Lindsay was prepared to die. He was so resigned, so peaceful towards the close.’