Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-11-07
XIII.

4
| The three days that followed Asshlin.s
death resolved themselves into 50 many
hours of gloom and confusion that found
| their elimination in the funeral ceremony.
| To Irishmen Of every class a funeral IL
| invested with an almost symbolic impOr-
| lance. and solemn consideration Is be-
| slowed upon its most minute details. But
! Milbanke, deeply imbued with the horror
! and suddenness Of the whole disaster, was
| filled with a growing establishment at the
! numberless preliminaries-the amount OF
| precedence and prestige requiring consider
alton before one poor human body can be
i hidden away. And he rose duttfully TO the
! occasion and proved himself unfatlingiy pa
| tient and conscientious In every emergency
| from the first repugnant interview with the
| undertaken to the wOful breakfast. partaken
Of in the early hours Of the funeral morn
| Ing with the curtains drawn across the
| dining room windows and the candles In
| the massive silver sconces shedding an un-
| natural light upon the table laden with
| eatables.
| The guests who partook of this meal were
| men Of varied and interesting types; but
| whatever their characteristic differences 1t
! was remarkable that the same air of re-
sponsibility and solemnity inspired them
| all. It did not matter that many OF them
| had been personal enemies OF the dead
4 man; that many, with that jealous distrust
| Of Internationally that reigns in Ireland
last ten years of his life; death had oblit-
| Grated everything. Asshlins eccentricities
his lawlessness. his contempt for the little
world in which he lived were all forgotten
| He was one Of MISUNDERSTANDING, In
| death at least, the same consideration that
| the county had bestowed upon his father,
| his grandfather and those who had gone
| before them.
| The faces Of these men were unfamiliar
| to Millbanke; though each on entering the
! dining room shook him cordially and SYM
pathetically by the hand. The meal was
| no rfa Lop Of ali n Sf16nco and II waa
! with obvious relief that, one after another,
| the members of the party rose from table
| and passed into the darkened hall and from
| thence to the sweep of graveled drive that
| fronted the house. where the less privi-
\ legged of those who had come to do Asshlin
I honor lounged singly or in groups
The funeral was timed to start at 8; but
| the concourse of mourners-well accustomed
| to the delays inevitable on such an occa-
sion-evinced no sign Of impatience when
half-past and then 10 drew on and no
move had yet been made.
| But all things come to those who under
stand the art of patience. At quarter
past 10 thrill galvanized the lethargic
| crowd, and with the knowledge that the
| at last arrived. the men began to jostle one
| another and push forward toward the
house, while all hats were respectfully re-
moved.
! A faint murmur of admiration and awe
| went UP from the gathering as the great.
| brass-bound coffin was borne solemnly
| through In0 door ana ldlu upon INC open
bier. In silence Milbanke and young Lau-
! renee Asshlin took their places as chief
| mourners, and with the inevitable confusion
and uncertainty Of such moment, the
| crowd of men and vehicles formed up be-
| hind them; the horses under the bier
| moved slowly forward, and the body of
| Denis Asshlin passed for the last time down
the avenue and through the gates of Orris-
| town. - .- s+---..s-
The funeral over, NLilbanke walked back
! from Carrigmore alone The servants who
| had followed their master to his resting
| place in the old graveyard had remained in
| the village to enjoy the Importance that the
OCCASION lent them; young sAsshlin had dis
appeared at the conclusion of the burial
service; while the daughters and sister-in-
law of the dead man-in accordance with
the custom of the country-had remained
secluded In their own rooms at Orristown,
appearing neither at the breakfast nor the
funeral.
In a house Of death the hours that succeed
the burial are, If possible, even more mel
ancholy than those that precede it. The
sensa lions of awe and responsibility have
been dispersed, but as yet it Is impossible
to resume the commonplace routine of life.
AS Milbanke passed through the gateway
and walked up the drive plowed into
new burrows by the long procession of cars
that had followed the coffin, he was deeply
sensitive to this impression; and 1t fell
upon him afresh with chill Of desolation
as he entered the door, still standing open.
and moved slowly across the deserted hall.
In the dining room the curtains had been
drawn back and the candles extinguished,
but the daylight seemed to fall tardily and
unnaturally upon the room after its three
days exclusion. He stood for a moment
looking at the debris of the breakfast that
had not yet been removed, at the disarray
of the chairs that had been hurriedly va
Gated; then, with fresh and poignant
sense Of loss and loneliness. he turned has
tily and walked out Of the room.
In the hall he attempted to pause afresh;
but the sound of muffled sobbing from the
upper portion Of the house sent him incon-
tinently forth into the open. With an over
whelming desire for human fellowship-for
any companionship in this abode Of desola-
tion-he passed without consideration of his
dignity round the corner of the house in
the direction of the stable yard.
He walked calmly, but there was a pucker
of anxiety his usually placid brow-an
expression of concern, apart from actual
sorrow, in his tightly set lips. To the most
casual observer it would have been obvious
that something weighed upon his mind.
Still moving with his habitual precision he
entered the yard by the arched gateway,
picking his wav between the scattered ar
ray of rubbish. food, and implements that
encountered the ground.
When he appeared a dozen rough or
glossy heads were thrust out Of kennels or
outhouses. as the dogs accorded him
noisy welcome; but paying only partial heed
to their demonstrations, he passed on to
the. vast coach house, with the vague hope
i that some labnrer connected with the farm
or stables nigh: possibly have been left be-
hind in the general exodus. But here
again he was doomed to disa poointment
The coach house with its walls festooned
with rotting harness. its ghostly row Of
cumbersome, Anticipated vehicles, was as
empty of human presence as the yard it.
self.
Conscious Of the isolation that hung over
the place. disproportionately aware of his
own aimlessness, he stood uncertain in
what direction to turn. For the moment
the household had no need of him. there
We're no legal formalities to succeed the
funeral, Asshin having left no will and of
Pei sonal duties he had none to claim his
attention.
He stood by the coach house door woe
fully undecided to his next move. when
all at once relief came to him from the
most unexpected quarter of the outbuild-
ings. One of the dairy windows was opened
sharply. and head was thrust through
the aperture.
"Wisha, what is 1t you're doin' there.
sir?" voice demanded, kindly. Sure that
ould yard Is no fit place for you
Turning hastily. Milbanke saw the broad,
plain face of Hannah. her small eyes red,
her rough cheeks stained with weeping.
why HannahP' he exclaimed. What
are you doing here? thought you were at
the funeralr'
Hannah passed the back of her hand
bar