"I shall be obliged to sit down for an hour and set down the heads of my letter, I suppose," said Salis. "To-night, Hartley?" cried Leo, suddenly displaying great interest in her brother's welfare. "No, no; don't do that. You seem so fagged." "Yes, you seem tired out, dear," said Mary. "Go and have a good night's rest," said Leo, smiling, and rising to kiss him. "Good night, dear. Good night, Mary. But you will go to bed, Hartley?" "Well," he said, "if you two order it I suppose I must." "And we do order it," said Leo playfully; "eh, Mary?" "Yes, get up early and have a good morning's walk," said Mary, with the result that the lamp was extinguished after candles had been lit. Leo went to her room, and Hartley Salis performed his regular task of carrying his sister to her door; after which, by the help of a couple of crutch-handled sticks, she could manage to get about. An hour later all was hushed at the Rectory, and another hour passed when Hartley Salis had been dreaming uneasily of listening to a lecture from the rector about his neglect of the parish, the rector striking hard on the principle of the rough who blunders against a person and exclaims-- "Where are yer shoving to?" The lecture had reached an imaginary point at which the rector had exclaimed, with his hand on the bell: "And now we understand one another, Mr Salis. Good morning." The bell rang just over the curate's head, and he jumped out of bed and hurried on his dressing-gown, for that bell communicated with Mary's room, and had been there ever since her illness had assumed so serious a form. "What is it, Mary; are you ill?" "No, no, dear," came back through the slightly opened door; "but there is something wrong." "Wrong?" "Yes. I certainly heard a door open and close downstairs." Volume 2, Chapter V. THE SEXTON HAS A GLASS. The Candlish mausoleum had been built by an architect who had an excellent idea of the beauties of the Jacobean style, and he had got over the many-windowed difficulty by making those windows blank. The stone mullions, with their tracery, were handsome, and the way in which the arms of the Candlish family had been introduced where there was room reflected great credit upon him. In places where the arms would not stand there was always room for a crest or a shield, so that the chapel-like structure was an improvement to the old church. But after the exterior had been named, with its grand roof, massive door, and finely forged gate and rails, the less said about design the better. Mausoleums were evidently not the architect's strong point; and when he came to the interior he was at his worst. This was to be a partly underground structure, and the architect's ideas of underground structures were divided between coal-cellars and cellars to hold wine.