“Oh, Grey, I am so glad you have come and sorry you are suffering so from headache, but I know just how you loved him and how he loved you—­better than anything else in the world.  Will you come with me and see him now?  He looks so calm and peaceful and happy, just as you never saw him look.”

“Oh, no, no!” Grey cried, wrenching himself from her.  “I cannot see him; don’t ask me, please.”

“Not see your grandfather who loved you so much?  Oh, Grey!” Hannah exclaimed, with both wonder and reproach in her voice.  “I want you to remember him as he looks now, so different from what he was in life.”

“But I cannot,” Grey said, “I never saw any one dead; I cannot bear it,” and going from her he took a seat in the kitchen as far as possible from the bedroom which held so much horror for him.

He knew his grandfather was not there, for he was lying in his coffin in the front room, where Lucy Grey had put the flowers brought from the conservatory at Grey’s Park.  But the other one was there, under the floor where he had lain for thirty-one years, and Grey was thinking of him, wondering who he was and if no inquiries had ever been made for him.  The room was a haunted place for him, and he was glad the door was closed, and once, when Lucy went into it for something, he started us if to keep her back.  Then remembering that he must never be supposed to know the secret of that room, he sank again into his chair in the corner, where he staid until the people began to assemble, when he went with his mother into the adjoining room, where the coffin was and where he sat immovable as a stone through the service, which, was not very long.  The hymn, which had been selected by Hannah, was the one commencing with, “Asleep in Jesus, that blest sleep, from which none ever wake to weep,” and as the mournful music filled the rooms, and the words came distinctly to Grey’s ears, he started as if struck a blow, while to himself he said: 

“Is he asleep in Jesus?  If I only knew!  Can no one tell me?  Poor grandpa!”

Then he was quiet again, and listened intently to what Mr. Sanford was saying of the deceased.  Contrary to his usual custom, the rector spoke of the dead man, who had gone down to the grave like a sheaf of grain fully ripe and meet for the kingdom of Heaven.

“There can be no mistake,” he said, “I was with him a few hours before he died.  I heard his words of contrition for sins committed and his assurance that all was peace and joy and brightness beyond the tomb.  His sins, of which he repented as few ever have, were all washed away in Jesus’ blood, and while to-day we stand around his grave, he is safe with the Savior he loved and trusted to the end.”

What else he said, Grey did not know, for the sudden reaction in his feelings.  Mr. Sanford was with his grandfather at the last.  He had heard the dreadful words, “I killed a man!” and yet he declared the sinner saved.  He must know, he who had stood by so many death-beds.