To realize the
strength of the popular feeling, as it presently revealed itself, was to
look shuddering into things elemental.
It was first made plain on the day of Melrose's funeral. In order to
avoid the concourse which might attend a burial in Whitebeck parish
church, lying near the main road, and accessible from many sides, it
was determined to bury him in the graveyard of the little mountain
chapel on the fell above the Penfolds' cottage. The hour was sunrise; and
all the preparations had been as secretly made as possible. But when the
dark December morning arrived, with sleet showers whitening all the
slopes of Helvellyn and the gashed breast of Blencathra, a dense crowd
thronged all the exits of the Tower, and lined the steep lanes leading to
the chapel. Faversham, Cyril Boden, and a Carlisle solicitor occupied the
only carriage which followed the hearse. Tatham and his mother met the
doleful procession at the chapel. Lady Tatham, very pale and queenly,
walked hand in hand with a slight girl in mourning. As the multitude
outside the churchyard caught sight of the pair, a thrill ran through its
ranks. Melrose's daughter, and rightful heiress--disinherited, and
supplanted--by the black-haired man standing bareheaded behind the
coffin. The crowd endured the mockery of the burial service in a sullen
silence. Not a head uncovered. Not a voice joined in the responses.
Felicia threw back her veil, and the onlookers pressed to the churchyard
railings to see the delicate face, with its strong likeness to her
father.
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