"Pshaw!" said Lady Throckmorton. "The woman is deaf and stupid as a post. Captain Lovelace, will you come home and dine with us, or shall I set you down any where?"
"Your ladyship must excuse me," said Captain Lovelace. "I—I am too disordered to be fit company for your ladyship. I feel myself very unwell."
And, not even waiting to hand her ladyship to her carriage, as she evidently expected, he pulled his hat over his brows and walked away.
That very afternoon, Mr. Cheriton received a twenty-pound note, with an anonymous request that he would apply it to the funeral expenses of Mrs. Edwards, and give the remainder, if any, to her husband.
The next day, the town was ringing with the news that Captain Lovelace and some other gentleman, after a deep carouse, had fallen out over the gaming table, had fought a duel at daybreak, and were both lying dangerously wounded—Captain Lovelace probably fatally so. Truly the sorrow of the world worketh death. He did not die, however. After a very long and tedious illness, he was able to be abroad once more, and for the rest of his life, was as remarkable for sobriety and earnestness as he had formerly been for the reverse.
Mrs. Edwards' funeral was a little hurried, as Mr. Wesley was obliged to leave town. I never saw such a concourse of people as were gathered together. The church-yard was literally packed, but there was not the least disturbance. When Mr. Wesley and Mr. Cheriton came out of the church to meet the coffin at the gate, every one made way for them, and many a rough head was uncovered as the little procession passed by. The spot selected for the grave was close by our garden wall, so that Amabel and I in our bow window could see and hear all that went on. I was deeply affected, as all thoughtful persons must be, by the wonderful solemn beauty of the English service.
"Is it not beautiful?" said I.
"Yes, indeed; I should like to read it over by myself. But hush, Mr. Wesley is going to speak."
"'He that believeth on me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and he that liveth and believeth on me shall never die.'"
These were the words Mr. Wesley took as the text of his address. In all that vast multitude, you might have heard a pin drop, as in carefully measured sentences, in that full melodious voice, restrained in the midst of his utmost earnestness, he spoke of the promises of everlasting life to the believer, of the certainty of death and judgment, of the awful nearness of the eternal world, and besought all to make their calling and election sure while yet the choice was in their power. I saw Mr. Cheriton standing, in fixed and absorbed attention, by Mr. Wesley's side.