The tidings had reached the parsonage very late on the previous night—­so late that the rector had been disturbed in his bed to receive them.  It was his duty to make known to Lady Clavering the fact that she was a widow, but this he could not do till the next morning.  But there was little sleep that night for him or for his wife!  He knew well enough that the property was entailed.  He felt with sufficient strength what it was to become a baronet at a sudden blow, and to become also the owner of the whole Clavering property.  He was not slow to think of the removal to the great house, of the altered prospects of his son, and of the mode of life which would be fitting for himself in future.  Before the morning came he had meditated who should be the future rector of Clavering, and had made some calculations as to the expediency of resuming his hunting.  Not that he was a heartless man, or that he rejoiced at what had happened.  But a man’s ideas of generosity change as he advances in age, and the rector was old enough to tell himself boldly that this thing that had happened could not be to him a cause of much grief.  He had never loved his cousins, or pretended to love them.  His cousin’s wife he did love, after a fashion, but in speaking to his own wife of the way in which this tragedy would affect Hermione, he did not scruple to speak of her widowhood as a period of coining happiness.

“She will be cut to pieces,” said Mrs. Clavering.  “She was attached to him as earnestly as though he had treated her always well.”

“I believe it; but not the less will she feel her release, unconsciously; and her life, which has been very wretched, will gradually become easy to her.”

Even Mrs. Clavering could not deny that this would be so, and then they reverted to matters which more closely concerned themselves.  “I suppose Harry will marry at once now?” said the mother.

“No doubt; it is almost a pity, is it not?” The rector—­as we still call him—­was thinking that Florence was hardly a fitting wife for his son with his altered prospects.  Ah! what a grand thing it would have been if the Clavering property and Lady Ongar’s jointure could have gone together!

“Not a pity at all,” said Mrs. Clavering.  “You will find that Florence will make him a very happy man.”

“I dare say—­I dare say.  Only he would hardly have taken her had this sad accident happened before he saw her.  But if she will make him happy, that is everything.  I have never thought much about money myself.  If I find any comfort in these tidings, it is for his sake, not for my own.  I would sooner remain as I am.”  This was not altogether untrue, and yet he was thinking of the big house and the bunting.

“What will be done about the living?” It was early in the morning when Mrs. Clavering asked this question.  She had thought much about the living during the night, and so had the rector, but his thoughts had not run in the same direction as hers.  He made no immediate answer, and then she went on with her question.  “Do you think that you will keep it in your own hands?”