The voice was not like Grey’s, and Mr. Jerrold looked up quickly to meet the eyes which fell at once as did his own.  Neither could look in the other’s face with that secret which each knew and was hiding from the other.  But both were outwardly calm, and the breakfast passed quietly, with no reference to the recent event occupying the minds of all.  Mrs. Jerrold and her sister had expected that Grey would feel his loss keenly and possibly be noisy in his boyish demonstrations of grief, but they were not prepared for the torpor which seemed to have settled upon him, and which kept him indoors all day sitting by the fire over which he shivered as if in a chill, though his cheeks were crimson, and he sometimes wiped the drops of sweat from his lips and forehead.  His head was still aching terribly, and he was cold and faint, and this was a sufficient reason for his declining to accompany his Aunt Lucy, when, after breakfast was over, she went with his father to the farm-house, where she spent nearly the entire day, seeing to the many little things necessary for the funeral, and which Hannah could not attend to.

Geraldine did not go.  Her nerves were not equal to it and she should only be in the way, she said.  So she sent her love to Hannah and remained at home with Grey, who seldom spoke to her, and scarcely stirred, though occasionally his mother saw his lips move and great tears roll down his cheeks.

“I supposed he would care, but not so much as this,” she thought, as she watched him anxiously, wondering at the strength of his love for an old man in whom she had never even felt interested.

Once, moved with pity for him, she put her hand on his head, just as in the morning she had put it on her husband’s, and stooping, kissed him tenderly, saying: 

“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: