Signora Rivolta, in her present circumstances, felt it absolutely necessary to send for Markham, in order to avail herself of his advice as to what steps were now to be taken: for even if the Colonel had been a man of business and decision, he was almost, if not entirely, a stranger to the laws and manners of England.

Markham immediately obeyed the summons, and accompanied the family to Brigland. At his suggestion they first called upon the clergyman, Mr. Denver. From him Markham supposed that they should be able to gather the particulars of Mr. Martindale’s death better than from talkative and ignorant domestics, and less frigidly narrated than by a calculating scrivener. The young barrister also supposed that Mr. Denver’s thirst for knowledge might have put him into possession of all the particulars; and he knew that nothing so tended to the abatement of sorrow as a little ingenious circumstantiality. In these expectations Markham was not disappointed.

Mr. Denver received the party with great ceremony and formality; and though exceedingly sorry for the death of his good friend Mr. Martindale, he could not help being very much gratified by this mark of respect and consideration, nor could he well conceal his sense of the honor that was done him by this call. He addressed himself principally to Mr. Markham, having been previously acquainted with him, and regarding him as the mouth and ear of the party.

“Ah, sir, this is indeed a serious loss to us all. I little thought when poor Mr. Martindale sent for me last Monday morning, what was his object in wishing to see me.”

“Was he taken ill on Monday morning?” interrupted Mr. Markham.

“Oh dear, no sir; on Monday morning he was as well as you are at this moment. But it happened very curiously, that last Sunday Mr. Martindale came to church, and I preached a sermon on the uncertainty of human life. It is a sermon that I generally preach at this time of year. But Mr. Martindale, who was not much in the habit of attending church, had by some strange fatality heard this sermon twice before. Now, you know, sir,” continued Mr. Denver, addressing himself to Mr. Markham, “that our late friend was not much in the habit of taking notice of sermons. He used to say, in his odd manner, that one sermon was as good as another, for they all gave more good advice than any of the hearers followed. Well, sir, he sent for me, as I was saying, and as soon as I entered the room, (he was sitting in the bow-windowed drawing-room that overlooks the park,) he rose from the sofa, on which he usually sat, between the fire-place and window, and he took me by the hand, and without giving me time to speak, he drew a chair with his other hand, and almost pushed me into it, saying, ‘There, sit down, I want to talk to you.’ So I waited a few seconds, and then said, ‘I shall be exceedingly happy to attend to any commands which you may think fit to honor me with.’ Without making any direct answer to what I said, and as if he was not aware that I had spoken at all, he said, ‘How often have you preached that sermon which I heard yesterday?’ I smiled at the singularity of the question—Mr. Martindale used, you know, to ask very singular questions—and I said in answer, ‘I cannot tell exactly how often; but it has not been preached, I believe, oftener than any other.’—‘Perhaps not,’ he replied immediately; ‘but as I have heard it three times, it sounded to me yesterday as a kind of warning, and I have a notion that I am not far from my end.’ I tried all I could to divert his mind from such gloomy thoughts, but nothing that I could say produced any effect whatever. I said to him, ‘I hope, sir, that you do not feel yourself unwell.’—‘Unwell!’ he replied, ‘to be sure I do. I am an old man; and old age is a disease that must end in death.’—‘But, sir,’ said I again, ‘though you may be advanced in years, yet you enjoy a tolerably good state of health; and there are many persons much older than you who enjoy a very great share of health and a good flow of spirits, and why then, sir, should you cherish such gloomy thoughts?’”

Here Mr. Denver paused for a moment, and his countenance changed to a still graver expression, when clasping his hands together, and then spreading them out, and lifting up his eyes, he resumed his narrative, saying,

“If I live to the age of Methuselah I shall never forget the impressive and energetic manner in which Mr. Martindale replied. Before I had well finished speaking, he hastily caught up my words, and said, ‘Many persons older than me! Ay, sir, and there have been persons younger than me or you who on Monday morning have been in apparently perfect health, and on Saturday have been corpses. Now, sir, you preached to me yesterday, give me leave to preach to you to-day. I recommend to you for the future not to contradict on Monday what you have been preaching on the Sunday. Yesterday you exhorted me most solemnly to prepare for death, and to-day you are doing all in your power to divert my thoughts from the contemplation of mortality.’ There was a degree of seriousness in that rebuke which I felt to be irresistible; and I said no more. Our late friend then proceeded to mention several other matters of a worldly nature, and your name, sir, was very frequently mentioned; am I at liberty to go on with that part of my narrative?”

This interrogation was addressed to Markham, who immediately and almost quickly said, “By all means, Mr. Denver, by all means. I beg you would not hesitate about the use of my name.”

“Your fathers name also was mentioned,” said the clergyman.

Markham supposed, therefore, that some allusion had been made to his father’s embarrassments, and that on that account Mr. Denver felt some delicacy in speaking of the subject. As, however, Markham was well aware that nothing known to Mr. Denver could long be kept a secret, he gave full permission for any and every thing to be repeated which Mr. Martindale had said. On this leave, the rector of Brigland continued his narrative.

“Changing the subject from spiritual to temporal matters, Mr. Martindale then said, ‘Now, sir, I wish to make some alteration in my will in favor of two good friends of mine; and I am not willing to send for Mr. Price on this occasion, because I am desirous of making the alteration in his favor. He is a scrupulous man, and he would plague me with his modest refusals and opposition: so I shall execute it all myself; but I must have witnesses to the alteration, and you must find me some. The other friend whom I wish to put into my will, I believe you know. You dined with him here some time ago, soon after the trial in which my cousin was so unpleasantly engaged.’ I replied, ‘I know the gentleman, sir, to whom you allude, I remember him perfectly well.’ Mr. Martindale then proceeded, and as you wish to hear all the particulars, he said, ‘I have lately seen the young man very properly and suitably engaged in attending on his sick father; and from what I could learn before I left the town, I have reason to believe…’”

Here Mr. Denver hesitated, and Markham colored. The latter, however, had sufficient presence of mind to say, “I beg you will proceed; I am sure that Mr. Martindale could never have made any unhandsome or illiberal observations, or that indeed he could have said any thing which I could object to hear.”

“His observations,” continued Mr. Denver, “were not illiberal; but I felt some delicacy in alluding to the subject. Yet as you wish me to continue, I will add, that Mr. Martindale did say that he thought that there was something more than bodily illness, and that he had made such inquiries and had received such information as gave him a very high opinion of the parties concerned. He then said, that he was desirous of putting the name of Mr. Markham in his will. At his request, and totally unknown to Mr. Price, I fetched three gentlemen to witness the alteration of the will. When the gentlemen arrived, Mr. Martindale said to them, ‘Now, my good friends, I have requested the favor of your attendance to witness a transaction in which you have no interest; but I hope you will not on that account refuse to indulge an old man’s whims.’ For these were the same gentlemen who had witnessed the will which had been drawn out by Mr. Price. The gentlemen of course expressed their readiness to attend to the business on which they had been brought together; and then Mr. Martindale said to them, ‘Now, gentlemen, I am a capricious old man, and I wish to make some slight alteration in what I have called my last will and testament; but as the alteration concerns my worthy friend Price, I thought it best not to let him know any thing about the matter.’ He then produced the will, and read it over very distinctly; making as he went on many curious remarks, till when at last he reached the close of it he said, ‘Now I have here left Price residuary-legatee and executor; by which arrangement he will come into about ten or fifteen thousand pounds. But as there has been some change of circumstances which may render superfluous some of these legacies, and as Mr. Price does not reside in town, I have designed to make this alteration, namely, to put down his name as a legatee for twenty thousand, and to throw the burden of executorship and the chance of what may remain on my young friend, Horatio Markham of the Inner Temple.’”

Markham recollected, as who could not? the observation which had been made to him by Sir Andrew Featherstone concerning the trickery of Mr. Price, in keeping the old gentleman in ignorance of the real value and extent of his property, in order to take advantage of that ignorance for his own benefit. When, however, it appeared that Markham was put in that position, it excited in his mind emotions not easily suppressed. Not designing however to take undue advantage of this disposition, he commanded his feelings, and suffered Mr. Denver to proceed.

“The alteration of the will was then made, and duly signed and attested. The will was then committed to the care of Mr. Simpson, the banker, and the party who had witnessed it were requested to stay and dine at the cottage; and nobody could appear in better spirits or in better health than Martindale then did. He was quite as full of humor as ever; and he laughed and joked about the great house, for that was the name by which he always called the Abbey; and he several times said, ‘I think I must make another alteration in the will, and leave that foolish building for a public hospital, or for a madhouse; for it is only fit for crazy folks to inhabit.’ Then he said to us, ‘Have you any idea what that ridiculous mass of building cost me?’ And one said one sum, and another said another; and then the old gentleman laughed out and said, ‘Ay, ay, you may guess as long as you please, but you will never hit the mark, for upon my word I don’t know myself: for, in fact, before it was half finished, I was so much ashamed of my folly, I endeavoured to avoid knowing the amount of the expense.’ And thus quite in good-humor and high spirits did the old gentleman continue till it was past eleven o’clock, and even then he would hardly suffer us to take leave of him. The next morning I called to see him, and he was quite as well as ever, and did not take any notice of what had passed the day before; he only said, ‘Well, Mr. Denver, I am going down to Trimmerstone to inspect the repairs at the hall; but I will take care not to make such a fool’s hutch as that great house over the way.’ After I had been gone about an hour or more, a messenger came to fetch me again to go up to the cottage. Then I found Mr. Martindale extremely ill; a violent paralysis had seized him, and he was nearly speechless. It was with the utmost difficulty that he could be understood. Mr. Price was there, and was really as much affected as if it had been his own father. It was absolutely impossible to take any commands from Mr. Martindale himself, and Mr. Price thought it best to apprise his relations of the danger in which he was lying. For this purpose he despatched immediately a letter to Sir Andrew Featherstone, that he might gradually break the affair to them. But that letter had been scarcely sent off, when poor Mr. Martindale had a second attack, and in less than an hour he ceased to live. It is impossible for me to express what I felt upon this occasion. The language which he had used to me on the preceding day occurred so forcibly to my mind, it seemed as though it were quite prophetic.”

Mr. Denver finished his narration, which was attended to by Signora Rivolta not without some emotion. She felt much more deeply at this recital of her father’s decease than she had at the discovery of his existence. Clara too felt very sorry for her loss; for there had always been about her grandfather a peculiarly kind and gentle manner. He was an odd man, certainly; but if odd men have amiable qualities, their very oddness renders these good qualities more impressive and beautiful. Clara relied upon his judgment, and was delighted with the kindness of his heart. Clara was one who loved prodigies; and to her imaginative mind old Mr. Martindale was a prodigy of wisdom and benevolence. Clara might possess judgment as well as imagination; but she was not always aware of the precise line which divided them, and she sometimes mistook the promptings of the one for the decisions of the other.

The construction and arrangement of the external world is beautifully adapted to the varieties of minds which contemplate it, and the diversities of feelings which delight to be interested. If there be in any mind a love of the wonderful, there is abundant supply of it. If there be a delight in uniformity, there is also a uniformity precise beyond the utmost stretch of mathematical conception; and amidst human character there is also a delightful abundance of varied interest: for the sensibility which is most happy in tears, may also find sorrows wherewith to sympathise; the humor that is disposed to indulge itself in laughter, lacks not a liberal harvest of absurdities; the censorious, whose virtues consist in railing at others’ vices, never are at a loss for some vices to reprove; and those who like Clara Rivolta are delighted with romantically beautiful specimens of exalted moral character, may always find them.

It was then determined by the party that the gentlemen should proceed to the cottage, and take the necessary steps for arranging the funeral of their deceased friend, and that the ladies should remain at the house of Mr. Denver.