Remorse hit him hard, but he was through the worst of that, and life had become so tremendous, that he could not for very long keep his thoughts on death.

At his brother’s funeral he allowed his eye to rest on no familiar face and cast no recognising glance at man or woman.  He was haggard and pale, but more than that:  a new expression had come into his countenance.  Already consciousness of possession marked him.  He had grasped the fact of the change far quicker than Daniel had grasped it after their father’s death.

He was returning immediately with his aunt to Bridport; but Mr. Churchouse broke through the barrier and spoke to him as he entered the carriage.

“Won’t you see Sabina before you go, Raymond?  You must realise that, even under these terrible conditions, we cannot delay.  I understand she wrote to you when you came back; but that you have not answered her letter.  As things are it seems to me you might like to be quietly and privately married away from Bridetown?”

Raymond hardly seemed to hear.

“I can’t talk about that now.  A great deal falls upon me at present.  I am enormously busy and have to take up the threads of all poor Daniel was doing in the North.  There is nobody but myself, in my opinion, who can go through with it.  I return to London to-night.”

“But Sabina?”

Raymond answered calmly.

“Sabina Dinnett will hear from me during the next twenty-four hours,” he said.

Ernest gazed aghast.

“But, my dear boy, you cannot realise the situation if you talk like that.  Surely you—­”

“I realise the situation perfectly well.  Good-bye, Uncle Ernest.”

The coach drove away.  Miss Ironsyde said nothing.  She had broken down beside the grave and was still weeping.

Then came Mr. Best, where Mr. Churchouse stood at the lich-gate.  He was anxious for information.

“Did he say anything about his plans?” he asked.

“Only that he is proceeding with his late brother’s business in the North.  I perceive a most definite change in the young man, John.”

“For the better, we’ll hope.  What’s hid in people!  You never would have thought Mister Raymond would have carried himself like that.  It wasn’t grief at his loss, but a sort of an understanding of the change.  He even looked at us differently—­even me.”

“He’s overwrought and not himself, probably.  I don’t think he quite grasps the immediate situation.  He seems to be looking far ahead already, whereas the most pressing matter should be a thing of to-morrow.”

“Is the wedding day fixed?”

“It is not.  He writes to Sabina.”

“Writes!  Isn’t he going to see her to-day!”

“He returns to London to-night.”

Arthur Waldron also asked for news, for Raymond had apparently been unconscious of his existence at the funeral.  He, too, noted the change in Ironsyde’s demeanour.