I went out to her.
"You'd like to see the body afore they fastens it up?" she said.
I bent my head and followed her.
"He makes a beautiful corpse," she whispered, as we passed into the
room. It was an incongruous remark, and stirred again an hysterical
feeling that had been driving me to laugh when I felt most sad amid
all the grotesquely dreary preparations for the "burying." But, like
some other sayings that offend ears polite, it had the merit of truth.
It was not the beauty of the Rector's face in death, however, noble as
it was, that alone drew from me a cry of admiration when I stooped
over his coffin. From the feet to the breast, utterly hiding the grave
clothes, and tastefully grouped about his last pillow, were the most
beautiful exotic flowers I ever beheld. Flowers lately introduced that
I had never seen, flowers that I knew to be rare, almost
priceless--flowers of gorgeous colours and delicate hothouse beauty,
lay there in profusion.
"Mr. Jonathan sent for 'em," Betty murmured in my ear. "There's pounds
and pounds' worth lies there. He give orders accordingly. There warn't
to be a flower 'at warn't worth its weight in gowd a'most.
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