"I am sorry for you, Grey. It is really making you sick. Try and not feel so badly. Your grandfather was old and ready to die. You would not have him back, he is so happy now."
Just as his father had done when she tried to comfort him, so Grey did. He made a gesture for her to stop, and said piteously:
"Please don't talk to me now, I cannot bear it;" so she sat down again beside him, while he continued to nurse the bitter thoughts crowding so fast upon him:
Was his grandfather happy now? Was it well with him in the world to which he had gone? he kept asking himself over and over again all that dreary day and the drearier night which followed, and which left him whiter, sadder, if possible, than ever.
The funeral was appointed for half past two on Saturday afternoon, and Burton, who went over in the morning, asked Grey to go with him.
"Your Aunt Hannah will expect you. She was disappointed in not seeing you yesterday," but Grey said promptly:
"No, I'll wait, and go with mother."
So Mr. Jerrold went alone with Lucy, leaving his wife and Grey to join him about half past one, just before the neighbors began to assemble. When Grey came in, Hannah, who was already draped in her mourning robe which Lucy had provided for her, went up to him, and putting her arms around him, said, very low and gently, but with no sadness in the tone:
"Oh, Grey, I am so glad you have come and sorry you are suffering so from headache, but I know just how you loved him and how he loved you—better than anything else in the world. Will you come with me and see him now? He looks so calm and peaceful and happy, just as you never saw him look."
"Oh, no, no!" Grey cried, wrenching himself from her. "I cannot see him; don't ask me, please."