There was a moment of silent horror, as the eyes of the cousins met. Then Phoebe said under her breath-- "That bell!" "Yes, poor dear Madam, she rang her bell," said Betty; "but she could not speak when I got to her. I don't think she was above ten minutes after. I've sent off sharp for Dr Saunders, and Mr Dawson too; but 'tis too late--eh, poor dear gentlewoman!" "Did you send for Mr Leighton?" asked Rhoda, in an awe-struck voice. "Oh dear, yes, I sent for him too; but la! what can he do?" answered Betty, wiping her eyes. They all came in due order: Dr Saunders to pronounce that Madam had been dead three hours--"of a cardial malady," said he, in a professionally mysterious manner; Mr Leighton, the Vicar of Tewkesbury, to murmur a few platitudes about the virtues and charity to the poor which had distinguished the deceased lady, and to express his firm conviction that so exalted a character would be at once enrolled among the angelic host, even though she had not been so happy as to receive the Holy Sacrament. Mr Dawson came last, and his concern appeared to be awakened rather for the living than the dead. "Sad business this!" said he, as he entered the parlour, where the cousins sat, close together, drawn to one another by the fellowship of suffering, in a manner they had never been before. "Sad business! Was to have seen me to-day--important matter. Humph!" The girls looked at him, but neither spoke. "Do you know," he pursued, apparently addressing himself to both, "how your grandmother had arranged her affairs?" "No," said Rhoda and Phoebe together. "Humph! Pity! Been a good deal better for you, my dear young gentlewoman, if she had lived another four-and-twenty hours." Neither said "Which?" for both thought they knew. "Poor Phoebe!" said Rhoda, pressing her hand. "But never mind, dear; I'll give it you, just right, what she meant you to have. We'll see about it before I'm married. Oh dear!--that will have to be put off, I suppose." "You are going to be married?" asked the lawyer. "Yes," said Rhoda, bridling. "Humph!--good thing for you." Mr Dawson marched to the window, with his hands in his pockets, and stood there softly whistling for some seconds. "Got any money?" he abruptly inquired. "I? No," said Rhoda. "No, no; your intended." "Oh! Yes--three thousand a year." "Humph!" Mr Dawson whistled again. Then, making as if he meant to leave the room, he suddenly brought up before Phoebe. "Are _you_ going to be married?" "No, Sir," said Phoebe, blushing. "Humph!" ejaculated the lawyer, once again. Silence followed for a few seconds. "Funeral on Sunday, I suppose? Read the will on Monday morning--eh?" "Yes, if you please," said Rhoda, who was very much subdued. "Good. Well!--good morning! Poor girl!" The last words were in an undertone.