'
'Handsome he is, and strange, no doubt--it was a strange fancy that
funeral. Strange, indeed,' said the rector.
'What funeral, darling?'
'Why, yes, a funeral--the bringing his father's body to be laid here in
the vault, in my church; it is their family vault. 'Twas a folly; but
what folly will not young men do?'
And the good parson poked the fire a little impatiently.
'Mr. Mervyn--_not_ Mervyn--that was his mother's name; but--see, you
must not mention it, Lily, if I tell you--_not_ Mr. Mervyn, I say, but
my Lord Dunoran, the only son of that disgraced and blood-stained
nobleman, who, lying in gaol, under sentence of death for a foul and
cowardly murder, swallowed poison, and so closed his guilty life with a
tremendous crime, in its nature inexpiable. There, that's all, and too
much, darling.'
'And was it very long ago?'
'Why, 'twas before little Lily was born; and long before _that_ I knew
him--only just a little. He used the Tiled House for a hunting-lodge,
and kept his dogs and horses there--a fine gentleman, but vicious,
always, I fear, and a gamester; an overbearing man, with a dangerous
cast of pride in his eye.
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