As the morrow dawned the old man passed away, happy, inasmuch as Nicholas had afforded him the last rites of his religion.  As the twilight descended the chapel bell rung out upon the stillness of the eventide.  It was the Sabbath, but amid the sorrow and the gloom which reigned around, this fact had been well-nigh forgotten.

The summer breeze carried the sound a long way along the dale.  It had not been heard since the day of Father Philip’s accident, and its sound had been sorely missed.

But now it was no longer the herald of peace, nor the token of joy, for the villagers knew full well that it was tolling the knell of the departed priest, and their hearts were heavy with sorrow for the friend they knew had just passed away.

The chapel was open.  It was free for the once to as many as could enter, and there were few around who did not wish to show respect to the man who had surely, in one way or another, proved himself their friend.

The limited number that the chapel could accommodate took their places long before the vesper bell stopped ringing, and when Sir George came in, bringing in with him the Lady Maude, and followed by his daughters and the two guests, there was a large concourse of disappointed worshippers outside who were bent on remaining as near the sacred edifice as they might get.  Though they were denied admittance, they would hear the solemn chant as it sounded through the open windows, and they felt that they would fall under the same sacred influence as those who were inside; and whilst these latter were favoured by the hallowing influences of the sanctuary, they were compensated for this by the rustling of the leaves, which seemed to moan in sympathy with them as the wind swept gently by.

Of all who mourned the loss of the father—­and there were many who regretted that he was taken from their midst—­none was more sincere in her grief than Dorothy, and none apparently was so little affected by the loss as Margaret.

This maiden had watched the growing familiarity of the intercourse between her sister and John Manners with no friendly eyes.  She had perceived that it was necessary to take action at once in the matter, and at her express command her lover was even now on a mission to his brother to secure the double alliance between the two houses of Vernon and Stanley, upon which she and Lady Vernon had set their minds.

The absence of Sir Thomas had intensified her feelings in the matter, and seeing Manners leading Dorothy out of the sick man’s chamber with his arm interlinked with hers, it had goaded her to such a frenzy that, regardless of the inopportunity of the time, she had proceeded straightway to Sir George and Lady Maude and had laid the matter before them in a most unfavourable light.