As each went away with a heart strained and exhausted by the outburst of grief, something of the new life beyond, something that breathed vaguely across them in the dark, like the air from the window, filled the impatient human souls within them. The one idea could not retain undisturbed possession even so long as that. The world itself could no more stand still, poising itself in its vast orbit, than the spirits of its inhabitants. It was not that Ben thought of his new wealth, nor Laurie of his future freedom; but only that a thrill of the future passed through them, as they stood for this melancholy moment by the death-bed of their past. Five days passed thus, each of them as long as a year. Duty and propriety kept the young men in-doors, in the languid stillness; or if they went out at all, it was only for a disconsolate stroll through the grounds, on which, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs, they would set out, saying little. The funeral relieved them from the painful artificiality of this seclusion. When they met together after it, it was with faces in which there was neither fear nor hope, that the sons of the dead man appeared. Their father had always been just to them and kind, and they had no reason to expect that he could have been otherwise in the last act of his life. The persons present were Mrs. Renton, Mrs. Westbury, her children Mary and Laurence, and the three Renton boys; with the lawyer, Mr. Pounceby, and his clerk, and a few old friends of the family, who had just accompanied them from the grave. They all took their places without excitement. He might have left a few legacies, more or less, but nobody could doubt what would be the disposal of his principal property. The ladies sat together, a heap of mournful crape, at one end of the room. The whole company was quiet, and languid, and trustful. There was no anxiety in any one’s mind,--unless, indeed, it was in that of Mr. Pounceby, who did not look to be at his ease. For the first quarter of an hour he did nothing but clear his throat; then he had a blind pulled up, that he might have a light to read by; then he pulled it down, because of a gleam of the sun that stole in and worried him. His task was such that he did not like to begin it, or to go through it when begun. But with the obtuseness of people who have not their attention directed to a subject, nobody noticed his confusion; he had a cold, no doubt, which made him clear his throat;--he was always fidgety;--they were not suspicious, and found nothing out.