A few days after this the old man passed peacefully from the world
without a sigh.

They buried him in the family vault under the chancel windows. And he
was the last of the Buckleys that slept in the grave of his
forefathers. And the old arch beneath the east window is built up for
ever.

Soon after he was gone, the Major, as I shall call him in future, sold
the house and park, and the few farms that were left, and found himself
with twelve thousand pounds, ready to begin the world again. He funded
his money and made up his mind to wait a few years and see what to do;
determining that if no other course should open, he would emigrate to
Canada--the paradise of half-pay officers. But in the meantime he
moved into Devonshire, and took a pretty little cottage which was to
let, not a quarter of a mile from Drumston Vicarage.

Such an addition to John Thornton's little circle of acquaintances was
very welcome. The Major and he very soon became fast friends, and noble
Mrs. Buckley was seldom a day without spending an hour at least, with
the beautiful, wilful, Mary Thornton.





Chapter IV