He took it from her hands, and laid it gently and reverently on his young cousin’s coffin. There were many other flowers, and as John Temple placed hers, the girl took courage and went up close to the grave and looked in.
“He was so fond of flowers,” she said in a low tone, and her tears fell fast.
“Poor boy,” answered John Temple, and then he looked at the girl and wondered who she was.
But the service was over and the mourners turned away, and John went with them. He glanced back and saw that the girl in the white frock was still standing by the grave. Others, too, had now approached it; gone to take a last look at the young heir.
The funeral guests did not return to the Hall, except John Temple, who drove there with his uncle. The squire was deeply affected, and John not unmoved.
“He—he was everything to me,” faltered the squire.
“I feel the deepest sympathy for you,” answered John Temple, and his words were actually true.
It was a short but dreary drive, and when they reached the Hall the squire asked John Temple to excuse him until dinner time.
“I feel I am unfit company for anyone,” he said, “but make yourself quite at home in the house that will be yours some day,” he added, with melancholy truth.