Three or four workmen went into the parlor. One of them put down the lid and screwed it tight. The casket was closed forever. They lifted it, and carried it out carefully down the steps. They rolled it into a hearse that stood upon the gravel, and the man who closed the lid buttoned a black curtain over the casket. The same man went to the front door and read several names from a paper in a clear, dry voice. The people designated came down stairs, went out of the door, and stepped into carriages. The company rose in the library and drawing-room, and, moving toward the hall, looked at the mourners--at Hope Wayne and Mrs. Simcoe, at Mr. and Mrs. Budlong Dinks, Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Dinks, and others, as they passed out. Presently the procession began to move slowly along the avenue. Those who remained stepped out upon the piazza and watched it; then began to bustle about for their own carriages. One after another they drove away. Mr. Kingo said to Mr. Sutler that he believed the will was in the hands of Mr. Budlong Dinks, and would be opened in the morning. They looked around the place, and remarked that Miss Wayne would probably become its mistress. "Mrs. Alfred Dinks seems to be a very--a very--" said Mr. Kingo, gravely, pausing upon the last word. "Very much so, indeed," replied Mr. Sutler, with equal gravity. "And yet," said Mr. Grabeau, "if it had been so ordered that young Mr. Dinks should marry his cousin, Miss Wayne, he would--that is, I suppose he would--;" and he too hesitated. "Undoubtedly," replied both the other gentlemen, seriously, "without question it would have been a very good thing. Mr. Burt must have left a very large property." "He made every cent tell," said Mr. Sutler, taking the reins and stepping into his carriage. "Rather--rather--a screw, perhaps?" inquired Mr. Grabeau, gravely, as he took out his whip. "Awful!" replied Mr. Kingo, as he drove away. The last carriage went, and the stately old mansion stood behind its trees deserted. The casket and its contents had been borne away forever; but somebody had opened all the windows of the house, and June, with its song, and perfume, and sunshine, overflowed the silent chambers, and banished the smell of the varnish and every thought of death. CHAPTER XLVIII. THE HEIRESS.