Philip mechanically took up the letter from his uncle.  The sight of his handwriting made him anxious, for it was his aunt who always wrote to him.  She had been ill for the last three months, and he had offered to go over to England and see her; but she, fearing it would interfere with his work, had refused.  She did not want him to put himself to inconvenience; she said she would wait till August and then she hoped he would come and stay at the vicarage for two or three weeks.  If by any chance she grew worse she would let him know, since she did not wish to die without seeing him again.  If his uncle wrote to him it must be because she was too ill to hold a pen.  Philip opened the letter.  It ran as follows: 

My dear Philip,

I regret to inform you that your dear Aunt departed this life early this morning.  She died very suddenly, but quite peacefully.  The change for the worse was so rapid that we had no time to send for you.  She was fully prepared for the end and entered into rest with the complete assurance of a blessed resurrection and with resignation to the divine will of our blessed Lord Jesus Christ.  Your Aunt would have liked you to be present at the funeral so I trust you will come as soon as you can.  There is naturally a great deal of work thrown upon my shoulders and I am very much upset.  I trust that you will be able to do everything for me. 
Your affectionate uncle,
William Carey.

LII

Next day Philip arrived at Blackstable.  Since the death of his mother he had never lost anyone closely connected with him; his aunt’s death shocked him and filled him also with a curious fear; he felt for the first time his own mortality.  He could not realise what life would be for his uncle without the constant companionship of the woman who had loved and tended him for forty years.  He expected to find him broken down with hopeless grief.  He dreaded the first meeting; he knew that he could say nothing which would be of use.  He rehearsed to himself a number of apposite speeches.

He entered the vicarage by the side-door and went into the dining-room.  Uncle William was reading the paper.

“Your train was late,” he said, looking up.

Philip was prepared to give way to his emotion, but the matter-of-fact reception startled him.  His uncle, subdued but calm, handed him the paper.

“There’s a very nice little paragraph about her in The Blackstable Times,” he said.

Philip read it mechanically.

“Would you like to come up and see her?”

Philip nodded and together they walked upstairs.  Aunt Louisa was lying in the middle of the large bed, with flowers all round her.

“Would you like to say a short prayer?” said the Vicar.

He sank on his knees, and because it was expected of him Philip followed his example.  He looked at the little shrivelled face.  He was only conscious of one emotion:  what a wasted life!  In a minute Mr. Carey gave a cough, and stood up.  He pointed to a wreath at the foot of the bed.