"Son Dan'el," she said, turning to the taller, "I expect this is you;"
and she shifted her staff to her left hand while he took the right; and
then the other old man, coming up, stooped, and kissed her on the
forehead.

Madam Melcombe shed a few tears. Both her sons looked disturbed, and
very ill at ease. She sat down again, and they sat opposite to her. Then
there was such a long, awkward pause, and her poor hand trembled so
much, that at last, as if in order to give her time to feel more at
ease, her younger son began to talk to her of her grand-daughter who
lived with her, and of her little great-grandson, Peter Melcombe. He
hoped, he said with gravity, that they were well.

There seemed to be nothing else that either of them could think of to
say; and presently, helped by the rest their words gave her, Madam
Melcombe recovered her self-possession.

"Son Dan'el," she said, "my time must be short now; and I have sent for
you and your brother to ask a favour of you. I could not lie easy in my
grave," she continued, "if I thought there would be nobody of all my
children to _follow me_. I have none but poor Peter's daughter and
grandson here now, and I hope you and Augustus and your sons will come
to my funeral. I hope you'll promise me faithfully, both of you, that
you'll certainly come and follow me to the grave."

A silence followed. The disappointment of both the sons was evident.

They had hoped, the younger remarked, that she might have had something
else to say.