However well disposed to impress the natives with high notions of his extraordinary refinement and importance, he very soon discovered that, in Marston, he had stumbled upon a man of the world, and one thoroughly versed in the ways and characters of London life.  After some ineffectual attempts, therefore, to overawe and astonish his host, Mr. Skelton became aware of the fruitlessness of the effort, and condescended to abate somewhat of his pretensions.  Marston could not avoid inviting this person to pass the night at his house, an invitation which was accepted, of course; and next morning, after a late breakfast, Mr. Skelton observed, with a yawn—­“And now, about this body—­poor Berkley!—­what do you propose to do with him?”

“I have no proposition to make,” said Marston, drily.  “It is no affair of mine, except that the body may be removed without more delay.  I have no suggestion to offer.”

“H——­’s notion was to have him buried as near the spot as may be,” said Skelton.

Marston nodded.

“There is a kind of vault, is not there, in the demesne, a family burial-place?” inquired the visitor.

“Yes, sir,” replied Marston, curtly.

“Well?” drawled Skelton.

“Well, sir, what then?” responded Marston.

“Why, as the wish of the parties is to have him buried—­poor fellow!—­as quietly as possible, I think he might just as well be laid there as anywhere else!”

“Had I desired it, Mr. Skelton, I should myself have made the offer,” said Marston, abruptly.

“Then you don’t wish it?” said Skelton.

“No, sir; certainly not—­most peremptorily not,” answered Marston, with more sharpness than, in his early days, he would have thought quite consistent with politeness.

“Perhaps,” replied Skelton, for want of something better to say, and with a callous sort of levity; “perhaps you hold the idea—­some people do—­that murdered men can’t rest in their graves until their murderers have expiated their guilt?”

Marston made no reply, but shot two or three lurid glances from under his brow at the speaker.

“Well, then, at all events,” continued Skelton, indolently resuming his theme, “if you decline your assistance, may I, at least, hope for your advice?  Knowing nothing of this country, I would ask you whither you would recommend me to have the body conveyed?”

“I don’t care to advise in the matter,” said Marston; “but if I were directing, I should have the remains buried in Chester.  It is not more than twenty miles from this; and if, at any future time, his family should desire to remove the body, it could be effected more easily from thence.  But you can decide.”

“Egad!  I believe you are right,” said Skelton, glad to be relieved of the trouble of thinking about the matter; “and I shall take your advice.”

In accordance with this declaration the body was, within four-and-twenty hours, removed to Chester, and buried there, Mr. Skelton attending on behalf of Sir Wynston’s numerous and afflicted friends and relatives.