Her brother Alfred stood by her side. What was stirring in his mind? Well, it was the day on which the Northumberland Plate was run for at the Newcastle-upon-Tyne races. The race was over by this time. Had Christopher Sly won? He trembled to think that it might have been beaten--had come in second, perhaps; had lost "by a head." If it had, there was woe in store for him. If he were in London, he would know; this uncertainty was torturing. Now he was in the depth of misery: Christopher Sly had lost, and he had to pay money, and to make money good, out of an empty purse. Now he was in the height of gladness: the horse could not lose--every one of the prophets had said so; Christopher Sly had won, and everything was right. It was like a reprieve from death.
Lastly, the grandfather. What his thoughts were will be shown in words. A strange and unexpected trouble had been added to his grief, and his handsome thoughtful face showed traces of perplexed anxiety.
When Felix had offered Lily a chair, the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell had killed the proffered courtesy with an irritable wave of his hand, which expressed, "You will not presume to sit in my presence." In everything that Felix did he found cause for anger, and he believed that his son was animated by a distinct wish to thwart and oppose him; this very proffered courtesy to one of these persons was another argument in his mind against Felix. Marble in the hands of a sympathetic worker was more capable of tenderness and gentleness than was the face of the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell as he sat in his arm-chair and waited for the intruders to speak.
"My name, sir, is Verity," commenced the old man, in a humble and respectful voice.
"So I understand," said the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell, in a hard and cold voice.
Lily shivered as the harshly-spoken words fell upon her ears.
"These are my grandchildren," indicating Lily and Alfred.
"A gentleman," thought Felix, as he followed the courteous action of the old man.
The Reverend Emanuel Creamwell received the intimation with a scarcely perceptible nod, and a colder chill came upon Lily's sensitive spirit as she raised her eyes to the dark face of the minister.
"They are the children of my dead daughter," continued the old man, "who before she died expressed a wish to be buried in the place which had been familiar to her in her younger and happier days."