The next day Randolph Trevethlan followed his father's remains to the vault in the village churchyard. It was but a short space from the gates of the base-court, and within the precinct still appertaining to the castle. Polydore Riches performed the funeral rites, and the grave closed over the dead.
The chief mourner had been too much absorbed in his own emotions during the ceremony to notice the bystanders; but when it was over, he looked round to thank such as were known to him, for their sympathy and respect. While so engaged, he happened to turn his eye on a couple, who stood a little apart, beneath the shade of an old yew tree. They were a young man about his own age, and a decrepit old woman. They returned his look with an air which might be termed insolent, and which, under other circumstances, might have provoked his anger. But the features of the youth, although coarse and sinister, seemed vaguely to resemble some with which Randolph was familiar, and as he gazed upon them, he asked the chaplain if he knew who the stranger was. Before Polydore could reply, the old woman answered, having seen, not heard, the question.
"Who am I? Thy mother's mother: thy grandmother. Who is this? Thy mother's sister's son: thy cousin. We were not asked to the burying, but we came. To weep for a son-in-law? To weep for an uncle? Did he weep for his wife? Na, na."
Randolph was inexpressibly shocked.
"I dreamt not of this," he said to the chaplain in a low tone. "Something must be done. Are they in distress?"
"Na, na," said the old woman with a frightful grin, again interpreting the motion of his lips, "we want nothing of you, Mr. Randolph Trevethlan. We belong to Pendar'l now. And so will Trevethlan.
'When the castle a bride from the cot shall claim,
Pendar'l and Trevethlan shall own one name.'
Margaret Basset's mother seeks not from a son the help which a husband refused."
Polydore put his arm through Randolph's, and drew him away. The late Mr. Trevethlan's marriage had been a prohibited subject at the castle, and all that his children knew concerning it, was, that their mother had been of humble birth. So this was his son's first introduction to his maternal relations. "It is thus," thought the chaplain, "that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children."
The resemblance which Randolph had detected in the young man's features, was to himself. It was of that vague character which the eye often discovers in an unknown portrait, depending not on complexion, or lineaments, or even expression, and difficult, therefore, to make visible to another's perception. So now a third person would probably have failed to see the likeness, recognised at once by the heir of Trevethlan. For while candour and courage distinguished Randolph's countenance, cunning and meanness lurked in the aspect of Michael Sinson.