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The winter and the spring had passed, and the house was complete. It wasa fine morning in the early part of June, and Barnet, though not in thehabit of rising early, had taken a long walk before breakfast; returningby way of the new building. A sufficiently exciting cause of hisrestlessness to-day might have been the intelligence which had reachedhim the night before, that Lucy Savile was going to India after all, andnotwithstanding the representations of her friends that such a journeywas unadvisable in many ways for an unpractised girl, unless some moredefinite advantage lay at the end of it than she could show to be thecase. Barnet's walk up the slope to the building betrayed that he was ina dissatisfied mood. He hardly saw that the dewy time of day lent anunusual freshness to the bushes and trees which had so recently put ontheir summer habit of heavy leafage, and made his newly-laid lawn look aswell established as an old manorial meadow. The house had been soadroitly placed between six tall elms which were growing on the sitebeforehand, that they seemed like real ancestral trees; and the rooks,young and old, cawed melodiously to their visitor.

The door was not locked, and he entered. No workmen appeared to bepresent, and he walked from sunny window to sunny window of the emptyrooms, with a sense of seclusion which might have been very pleasant butfor the antecedent knowledge that his almost paternal care of Lucy Savilewas to be thrown away by her wilfulness. Footsteps echoed through anadjoining room; and bending his eyes in that direction, he perceived Mr.Jones, the architect. He had come to look over the building beforegiving the contractor his final certificate. They walked over the housetogether. Everything was finished except the papering: there were thelatest improvements of the period in bell-hanging, ventilating, smoke-jacks, fire-grates, and French windows. The business was soon ended, andJones, having directed Barnet's attention to a roll of wall-paperpatterns which lay on a bench for his choice, was leaving to keep anotherengagement, when Barnet said, 'Is the tomb finished yet for Mrs. Downe?'

'Well--yes: it is at last,' said the architect, coming back and speakingas if he were in a mood to make a confidence. 'I have had no end oftrouble in the matter, and, to tell the truth, I am heartily glad it isover.'

Barnet expressed his surprise. 'I thought poor Downe had given up thoseextravagant notions of his? then he has gone back to the altar and canopyafter all? Well, he is to be excused, poor fellow!'

'O no--he has not at all gone back to them--quite the reverse,' Joneshastened to say. 'He has so reduced design after design, that the wholething has been nothing but waste labour for me; till in the end it hasbecome a common headstone, which a mason put up in half a day.'

'A common headstone?' said Barnet.

'Yes. I held out for some time for the addition of a footstone at least.But he said, "O no--he couldn't afford it."'

'Ah, well--his family is growing up, poor fellow, and his expenses aregetting serious.'

'Yes, exactly,' said Jones, as if the subject were none of his. Andagain directing Barnet's attention to the wall-papers, the bustlingarchitect left him to keep some other engagement.

'A common headstone,' murmured Barnet, left again to himself. He mused aminute or two, and next began looking over and selecting from thepatterns; but had not long been engaged in the work when he heard anotherfootstep on the gravel without, and somebody enter the open porch.

Barnet went to the door--it was his manservant in search of him.

'I have been trying for some time to find you, sir,' he said. 'Thisletter has come by the post, and it is marked immediate. And there'sthis one from Mr. Downe, who called just now wanting to see you.' Hesearched his pocket for the second.

Barnet took the first letter--it had a black border, and bore the Londonpostmark. It was not in his wife's handwriting, or in that of any personhe knew; but conjecture soon ceased as he read the page, wherein he wasbriefly informed that Mrs. Barnet had died suddenly on the previous day,at the furnished villa she had occupied near London.

Barnet looked vaguely round the empty hall, at the blank walls, out ofthe doorway. Drawing a long palpitating breath, and with eyes downcast,he turned and climbed the stairs slowly, like a man who doubted theirstability. The fact of his wife having, as it were, died once already,and lived on again, had entirely dislodged the possibility of her actualdeath from his conjecture. He went to the landing, leant over thebalusters, and after a reverie, of whose duration he had but the faintestnotion, turned to the window and stretched his gaze to the cottagefurther down the road, which was visible from his landing, and from whichLucy still walked to the solicitor's house by a cross path. The faintwords that came from his moving lips were simply, 'At last!'

Then, almost involuntarily, Barnet fell down on his knees and murmuredsome incoherent words of thanksgiving. Surely his virtue in restoringhis wife to life had been rewarded! But, as if the impulse struckuneasily on his conscience, he quickly rose, brushed the dust from histrousers and set himself to think of his next movements. He could notstart for London for some hours; and as he had no preparations to makethat could not be made in half-an-hour, he mechanically descended andresumed his occupation of turning over the wall-papers. They had all gotbrighter for him, those papers. It was all changed--who would sit in therooms that they were to line? He went on to muse upon Lucy's conduct inso frequently coming to the house with the children; her occasional blushin speaking to him; her evident interest in him. What woman can in thelong run avoid being interested in a man whom she knows to be devoted toher? If human solicitation could ever effect anything, there should beno going to India for Lucy now. All the papers previously chosen seemedwrong in their shades, and he began from the beginning to choose again.

While entering on the task he heard a forced 'Ahem!' from without theporch, evidently uttered to attract his attention, and footsteps againadvancing to the door. His man, whom he had quite forgotten in hismental turmoil, was still waiting there.

'I beg your pardon, sir,' the man said from round the doorway; 'buthere's the note from Mr. Downe that you didn't take. He called justafter you went out, and as he couldn't wait, he wrote this on your study-table.'

He handed in the letter--no black-bordered one now, but apractical-looking note in the well-known writing of the solicitor.

'DEAR BARNET'--it ran--'Perhaps you will be prepared for the information I am about to give--that Lucy Savile and myself are going to be married this morning. I have hitherto said nothing as to my intention to any of my friends, for reasons which I am sure you will fully appreciate. The crisis has been brought about by her expressing her intention to join her brother in India. I then discovered that I could not do without her.

'It is to be quite a private wedding; but it is my particular wish that you come down here quietly at ten, and go to church with us; it will add greatly to the pleasure I shall experience in the ceremony, and, I believe, to Lucy's also. I have called on you very early to make the request, in the belief that I should find you at home; but you are beforehand with me in your early rising.--Yours sincerely, C. Downe.'

'Need I wait, sir?' said the servant after a dead silence.

'That will do, William. No answer,' said Barnet calmly.

When the man had gone Barnet re-read the letter. Turning eventually tothe wall-papers, which he had been at such pains to select, hedeliberately tore them into halves and quarters, and threw them into theempty fireplace. Then he went out of the house; locked the door, andstood in the front awhile. Instead of returning into the town, he wentdown the harbour-road and thoughtfully lingered about by the sea, nearthe spot where the body of Downe's late wife had been found and broughtashore.

Barnet was a man with a rich capacity for misery, and there is no doubtthat he exercised it to its fullest extent now. The events that had, asit were, dashed themselves together into one half-hour of this day showedthat curious refinement of cruelty in their arrangement which oftenproceeds from the bosom of the whimsical god at other times known asblind Circumstance. That his few minutes of hope, between the reading ofthe first and second letters, had carried him to extraordinary heights ofrapture was proved by the immensity of his suffering now. The sunblazing into his face would have shown a close watcher that a horizontalline, which he had never noticed before, but which was never to be gonethereafter, was somehow gradually forming itself in the smooth of hisforehead. His eyes, of a light hazel, had a curious look which can onlybe described by the word bruised; the sorrow that looked from them beinglargely mixed with the surprise of a man taken unawares.

The secondary particulars of his present position, too, were odd enough,though for some time they appeared to engage little of his attention. Nota soul in the town knew, as yet, of his wife's death; and he almost owedDowne the kindness of not publishing it till the day was over: theconjuncture, taken with that which had accompanied the death of Mrs.Downe, being so singular as to be quite sufficient to darken the pleasureof the impressionable solicitor to a cruel extent, if made known to him.But as Barnet could not set out on his journey to London, where his wifelay, for some hours (there being at this date no railway within adistance of many miles), no great reason existed why he should leave thetown.

Impulse in all its forms characterized Barnet, and when he heard thedistant clock strike the hour of ten his feet began to carry him up theharbour-road with the manner of a man who must do something to bringhimself to life. He passed Lucy Savile's old house, his own new one, andcame in view of the church. Now he gave a perceptible start, and hismechanical condition went away. Before the church-gate were a couple ofcarriages, and Barnet then could perceive that the marriage between Downeand Lucy was at that moment being solemnized within. A feeling ofsudden, proud self-confidence, an indocile wish to walk unmoved in spiteof grim environments, plainly possessed him, and when he reached thewicket-gate he turned in without apparent effort. Pacing up the pavedfootway he entered the church and stood for a while in the nave passage.A group of people was standing round the vestry door; Barnet advancedthrough these and stepped into the vestry.

There they were, busily signing their names. Seeing Downe about to lookround, Barnet averted his somewhat disturbed face for a second or two;when he turned again front to front he was calm and quite smiling; it wasa creditable triumph over himself, and deserved to be remembered in hisnative town. He greeted Downe heartily, offering his congratulations.

It seemed as if Barnet expected a half-guilty look upon Lucy's face; butno, save the natural flush and flurry engendered by the service justperformed, there was nothing whatever in her bearing which showed adisturbed mind: her gray-brown eyes carried in them now as at other timesthe well-known expression of common-sensed rectitude which never went sofar as to touch on hardness. She shook hands with him, and Downe saidwarmly, 'I wish you could have come sooner: I called on purpose to askyou. You'll drive back with us now?'

'No, no,' said Barnet; 'I am not at all prepared; but I thought I wouldlook in upon you for a moment, even though I had not time to go home anddress. I'll stand back and see you pass out, and observe the effect ofthe spectacle upon myself as one of the public.'

Then Lucy and her husband laughed, and Barnet laughed and retired; andthe quiet little party went gliding down the nave and towards the porch,Lucy's new silk dress sweeping with a smart rustle round thebase-mouldings of the ancient font, and Downe's little daughtersfollowing in a state of round-eyed interest in their position, and thatof Lucy, their teacher and friend.

So Downe was comforted after his Emily's death, which had taken placetwelve months, two weeks, and three days before that time.

When the two flys had driven off and the spectators had vanished, Barnetfollowed to the door, and went out into the sun. He took no more troubleto preserve a spruce exterior; his step was unequal, hesitating, almostconvulsive; and the slight changes of colour which went on in his faceseemed refracted from some inward flame. In the churchyard he becamepale as a summer cloud, and finding it not easy to proceed he sat down onone of the tombstones and supported his head with his hand.

Hard by was a sexton filling up a grave which he had not found time tofinish on the previous evening. Observing Barnet, he went up to him, andrecognizing him, said, 'Shall I help you home, sir?'

'O no, thank you,' said Barnet, rousing himself and standing up. Thesexton returned to his grave, followed by Barnet, who, after watching himawhile, stepped into the grave, now nearly filled, and helped to tread inthe earth.

The sexton apparently thought his conduct a little singular, but he madeno observation, and when the grave was full, Barnet suddenly stopped,looked far away, and with a decided step proceeded to the gate andvanished. The sexton rested on his shovel and looked after him for a fewmoments, and then began banking up the mound.

In those short minutes of treading in the dead man Barnet had formed adesign, but what it was the inhabitants of that town did not for somelong time imagine. He went home, wrote several letters of business,called on his lawyer, an old man of the same place who had been the legaladviser of Barnet's father before him, and during the evening overhauleda large quantity of letters and other documents in his possession. Byeleven o'clock the heap of papers in and before Barnet's grate hadreached formidable dimensions, and he began to burn them. This, owing totheir quantity, it was not so easy to do as he had expected, and he satlong into the night to complete the task.

The next morning Barnet departed for London, leaving a note for Downe toinform him of Mrs. Barnet's sudden death, and that he was gone to buryher; but when a thrice-sufficient time for that purpose had elapsed, hewas not seen again in his accustomed walks, or in his new house, or inhis old one. He was gone for good, nobody knew whither. It was soondiscovered that he had empowered his lawyer to dispose of all hisproperty, real and personal, in the borough, and pay in the proceeds tothe account of an unknown person at one of the large London banks. Theperson was by some supposed to be himself under an assumed name; but few,if any, had certain knowledge of that fact.

The elegant new residence was sold with the rest of his possessions; andits purchaser was no other than Downe, now a thriving man in the borough,and one whose growing family and new wife required more roomyaccommodation than was afforded by the little house up the narrow sidestreet. Barnet's old habitation was bought by the trustees of theCongregational Baptist body in that town, who pulled down thetime-honoured dwelling and built a new chapel on its site. By the timethe last hour of that, to Barnet, eventful year had chimed, every vestigeof him had disappeared from the precincts of his native place, and thename became extinct in the borough of Port-Bredy, after having been aliving force therein for more than two hundred years.