“The agitating occurrences of the last week had induced a tendency of blood to the head, which ended in apoplexy.  From the moment of seizure he was insensible to all outward objects; he did not even recognise his son, in whose arms he breathed his last.  Of his mental state, it is impossible for us to determine.  He had faults, but they were more the result of unhappy circumstances than of any peculiar tendency to evil in his nature.  He was kind, benevolent, and merciful:  a good neighbor, and a warm and faithful friend.  Let us hope that he has found forgiveness through the merits of his Redeemer, and is at rest.”

Anthony kissed his uncle’s cold cheek, and said, “God bless him!” with great fervor.

“And now, my young friend, tell me candidly, in what way you have offended Captain Whitmore—­a man both wealthy and powerful, and who has proved himself such a disinterested friend to your uncle and cousin; and who might, if he pleased, be of infinite service, to you?  Can you explain to me the meaning of his parting words?”

“Not here—­not here,” said Anthony, greatly agitated.  “By the dead body of the father, how can a creature so long dependent upon his bounty denounce his only son?  Captain Whitmore labors under a strong delusion—­he has believed a lie; and poor and friendless as I am, I am too proud to convince him of his error.”

“You are wrong, Anthony.  No one should suffer an undeserved stigma to rest upon his character.  But I will say no more upon a painful subject.  What are you going to do with yourself?  Where will you find a home to-night?”

“Here with the dead.  Whilst he remains upon earth I have no other home.  I know Mr. Winthrop the jailer—­he is a kind benevolent man; he will not deny me an asylum for a few days.”

“My house is close at hand; remain with me until the funeral is over.”

“There will be no delay, I hope.  They will not attempt to seize the body.”

“Captain Whitmore has generously provided for that.  He paid the creditor on whose suit your uncle was detained, this morning; but the Colonel was too ill to be moved.”

“That was noble—­generous.  God bless him for that!  And Godfrey—­what is to become of him?”

“The Captain has insisted on his living at the Lodge until his affairs are settled.  Your cousin bore the death of his father with uncommon fortitude.  It must have been a terrible shock!”

“That is a sad misapplication of the word.  A want of natural affection and sensibility, the world calls fortitude.  Godfrey had too little respect for his father while living, to mourn very deeply for his death.”

“Alas! my young friend; what he is, in a great measure, his father made him.  I have known Godfrey from the petted selfish child to the self-willed, extravagant, dissipated young man; and though I augur very little good from what I do know of his character, much that is prominently evil might have been restrained by proper management, and the amiable qualities which now lie dormant been cherished and cultivated until they became virtues.  The loss of fortune, if it leads him to apply the talents which he does possess to useful purposes, may, in the end, prove a great gain.”