He had died, and made no sign. Mr. Robert Beaufort's countenance was still and composed.
A knock at the door was heard; the lawyer entered.
"Sir, the undertakers are here, and Mr. Greaves has ordered the bells to be rung: at three o'clock he will read the service."
"I am obliged to you., Blackwell, for taking these melancholy offices on yourself. My poor brother!—it is so sudden! But the funeral, you say, ought to take place to-day?"
"The weather is so warm," said the lawyer, wiping his forehead. As he spoke, the death-bell was heard.
There was a pause.
"It would have been a terrible shock to Mrs. Morton if she had been his wife," observed Mr. Blackwell. "But I suppose persons of that kind have very little feeling. I must say that it was fortunate for the family that the event happened before Mr. Beaufort was wheedled into so improper a marriage."
"It was fortunate, Blackwell. Have you ordered the post-horses? I shall start immediately after the funeral."
"What is to be done with the cottage, sir?"
"You may advertise it for sale."