(Prayers, abject prayers for themselves. None for him. Not one word. They
were cowards, afraid for themselves, afraid of death; their funk had made
them forget him. It was as if they didn't believe that he was there. And,
after all, it was _his_ funeral.)

"'Suffer us not, at our last hour--'"

The hard voice staggered and dropped, picked itself and continued on a
note of defiance.

"'...For on pains of death, to fall from Thee....'"

(They would have come to the grave now, by the black pointed cypresses.
There would be a long pit of yellow clay instead of the green grass and
the white curb. Dan and Roddy would be standing by it.)

"'Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His mercy to take unto
Himself the soul of our dear brother--'"

The queer, violent voice stopped.

"I can't--I can't."

Mamma seemed gratified by her inability to finish the Order for the
Burial of the Dead.


XII.