‘It’s of no consequence,’ said Frank.  ’The plaster was hanging, and must have fallen in any case.  Don’t make a fuss about a trifle.’

The clerk looked at the young gentleman and saw defiance in one of his eyes and half a crown in the other.

‘Well, well!’ he grumbled.  ’It shows as the young lady takes an interest, and that’s more than most.  Why, sir, if you’ll believe me, there’s not one in a hundred that comes to this church that ever ’eard of Pepys.  “Pepys!” says they. “’Oo’s Pepys?” “The Diarist,” says I.  “Diarist!” says they, “wot’s a Diarist?” I could sit down sometimes an’ cry.  But maybe, miss, you thought as you were picking that plaster off ‘is grave?’

‘Yes, I thought so.’

The clerk chuckled.

’Well, it ain’t so.  I’ll tell you where ’e really lies, if you’ll promise you won’t pick another chunk off that.  Well, then, it’s there—­beside the communion.  I saw ‘im lyin’ there with these very eyes, and ’is wife in the coffin beneath ‘im.’

‘You saw him?’

’Yes, sir, I saw ‘im, an’ that’s more than any livin’ man could say, for there were only four of us, and the other three are as dead as Pepys by now.’

‘Oh do tell us about it!’ cried Maude.

’Well, it was like this, miss.  We ’ad to examine to see ’ow much room there was down there, and so we came upon them.’

‘And what did you see?’

’Well, miss, ’is coffin lay above, and ’is wife’s below, as might be expected, seeing that she died thirty years or so before ’im.  The coffins was very much broken, an’ we could see ’im as clear us I can see you.  When we first looked in I saw ’im lying quite plain—­a short thick figure of a man—­with ’is ’ands across ’is chest.  And then, just as we looked at ’im, ’e crumbled in, as you might say, across ‘is breast bone, an’ just quietly settled down into a ’uddle of dust.  It’s a way they ’as when the fresh air strikes ’em.  An’ she the same, an’ ‘is dust just fell through the chinks o’ the wood and mixed itself with ‘ers.’

‘O Frank!’ Maude’s ready tears sprang to her eyes.  She put her hand upon her husband’s and was surprised to find how cold it was.  Women never realise that the male sex is the more sensitive.  He had not said, ‘O Maude!’ because he could not.

‘They used some powder like pepper for embalmin’ in those days,’ said the clerk.  ’And the vicar—­it was in old Bellamy’s time—­’e took a sniff into the grave, an’ ‘e sneezed an’ sneezed till we thought we should ’ave to fetch a doctor.  ‘Ave you seen Mrs. Pepys’ tomb?’

‘No, we have only just come.’

‘That’s it on the left of the common.’

‘With the woman leaning forward?’

‘Yes, sir.  That’s Mrs. Pepys herself.’

It was an arch laughing face, the face of a quite young woman; the sculptor had depicted her as leaning forward in an animated and natural attitude.  Below was engraved —