To be sure, he was very old, and I suppose we had not
any right to think he'd live even as long as he did; and as he was
nearly blind and had very poor use of his legs it was, perhaps, better
that he should go. But when I think of what friends we used to be
before I was married, I can't help feeling badly to think that he has
gone; that when I go back to America he will not show he is glad to see
me home again, which he would be if there wasn't another soul on the
whole continent who felt that way."
Miss Pondar was now standing up with her hands folded in front of her,
and her head bowed down as if she was walking behind a hearse with
eight ostrich plumes on it. "Lord Edward," she said, in a melancholy,
respectful voice, "and will his remains be brought to England for
interment?"
"Oh, no," said I, not understanding what she was talking about. "I am
sure he will be buried somewhere near his home, and when I go back his
grave will be one of the first places I will visit."
A streak of bewilderment began to show itself in Miss Pondar's
melancholy respectfulness, and she said: "Of course, when one lives in
foreign parts one may die there, but I always thought in cases like
that they were brought home to their family vaults.
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