Karl's tears were falling on the up-turned face. "I should like to have seen your wife, Karl; just once. Tell her so, with my love. Ask her to forgive me the worry I know I have caused her." "I will, I will." "Oh, Karl, it has been a dreadful life for me; you know it has. I began to think that God had forgotten me--how foolish I was! He was full of mercy all the while, and kept me here in safety, and has now changed it all into peace. Listen, Karl! there's a sound of sweet music." Karl could hear nothing but the wind. "It is the angels singing," whispered Adam, a smile of ineffable beauty on his face. "They sing on the journey, you know. Goodbye, Karl, goodbye!" Karl bent his face, his tears streaming, his heart aching. These partings are too bitter to be told of. This was most essentially so. "Where's Rose, Karl?" She was already by Karl's side. He yielded his place to her, and went down to Ann; and there sobbed over the kitchen fire as a woman might have done. But in the midst of it all, he could say as his brother had done, "Thank God." If ever a poor sinful weary man had need to rejoice that he was removed to that better world, it was Adam Andinnian. Rose's bell called Karl up again. The last moment was at hand. Ann Hopley followed: and they all stood round the bed and saw him die. The red clouds had dispersed; the sun was just showing itself above the verge of the horizon. CHAPTER XXI. Laid to his Rest. Foxwood heard the news. Mrs. Grey's shakey old gardener was dead, James Hopley. Mr. Moore, when applied to for particulars, went into a learned dissertation on chronic rheumatism, and said that he was not able to save him. Ann Hopley astonished the undertaker. She gave orders for three coffins: and they must be of the best, she said, if it cost her a hundred pounds. Her poor husband and she had saved money, and she should like to spend it on him. There was again a battle with the clerk. It had been bad enough when Ann Hopley chose the ground for Mrs. Grey's little child, within the precincts of that belonging to the Andinnian family; but to insist upon it that her own husband, a servant, should also lie there, was a piece of presumption the equal of which the clerk had never before heard of. However, Sir Karl, not waiting to be appealed to this time, called on the clerk, and said the woman might bury her husband there if she pleased; he did not think it right in people to assume exclusiveness after death, whatever they might do in life. The clerk lifted his hands when Sir Karl's back was turned: radical notions such as these would tend to demoralize the best conservative community.