'Oh--I see!' said the smith, kindling with a chastened interest,
and drawing close. 'Poor young lady--ah, terrible melancholy
thing--so soon too!'
Knight and Stephen turned their heads and looked.
'And what's that?' continued the smith.
'That's the coronet--beautifully finished, isn't it? Ah, that cost
some money!'
''Tis as fine a bit of metal work as ever I see--that 'tis.'
'It came from the same people as the coffin, you know, but was not
ready soon enough to be sent round to the house in London
yesterday. I've got to fix it on this very night.'
The carefully-packed articles were a coffin-plate and coronet.
Knight and Stephen came forward. The undertaker's man, on seeing
them look for the inscription, civilly turned it round towards
them, and each read, almost at one moment, by the ruddy light of
the coals:
E L F R I D E,
Wife of Spenser Hugo Luxellian,
Fifteenth Baron Luxellian:
Died February 10, 18--.
They read it, and read it, and read it again--Stephen and Knight--
as if animated by one soul. Then Stephen put his hand upon
Knight's arm, and they retired from the yellow glow, further,
further, till the chill darkness enclosed them round, and the
quiet sky asserted its presence overhead as a dim grey sheet of
blank monotony.
'Where shall we go?' said Stephen.
'I don't know.'
A long silence ensued....'Elfride married!' said Stephen then in a
thin whisper, as if he feared to let the assertion loose on the
world.
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