Nobody demanded the arrest of Matilda; hence the Squire and the doctor did not feel called upon to issue a warrant for that purpose.  The widowed and childless Mrs. Flower, for the so-called Harding was her son, claimed his body, and what remained of her husband’s; and asked Mr. Perrowne to read the burial service over them in the little graveyard behind his humble church.  Mr. Bangs, his work over, got the use of a waggon and the services of Ben Toner, to take his dead comrade’s coffin to Collingwood.  Nobody claimed the remains of Rawdon, till old Mr. Newberry came forward, and said he would take the shell in his waggon, with the woman and the boy, and give it Christian burial in the plot back of the Wesleyan church.  “We can’t tell,” he said, “what passed between him and his Maker when he was struggling for life.  Gie un the bainifit o’ the doot.”  So, Ben and Serlizer rolled away with Bangs, and Nash’s coffin; and Matilda and her son accompanied Rawdon’s remains, in Mr. Newberry’s waggon.  At the same time, with the sad, grey-haired woman as chief mourner, and Mrs. Carmichael beside her, a funeral procession passed from Bridesdale to the post office, and thence to the English churchyard, where old Styles and Sylvanus dug the double grave, around which, in deep solemnity, stood the Captain and Mr. Terry, the minister and the lawyer, while Mr. Perrowne read the service, and two victims of Rawdon’s crime and treachery were committed, earth to earth, dust to dust, and ashes to ashes.  Immediately the grave was covered in, the doubly-bereaved woman slipped away, and was never again heard of.  There appeared no evidence, far or near, that she had done away with herself; it was, therefore, concluded that she had a child or children elsewhere, and had gone to hide the rest of her wasted life with them.  The two clergymen went their ways to their lodgings, and the Bridesdale party walked silently and sorrowfully home.

Mr. Bigglethorpe wanted to go back with the Richards, so that he might have another morning’s fishing; but Mrs. Carruthers thought he had better take Mr. Bangs’ room, and nurse his eyes and other burned parts before going home.  Marjorie and her young cousins dragged him off, after his green shade was put on, to the creek, and made him rig up rods and lines for them in the shape of light-trimmed willow boughs, to which pieces of thread were attached with bent pins at the other ends.  Fishing with these, baited with breadcrumbs, they secured quite a number of chub and dace, and made the valley musical with their laughter at each success or mishap, by the time the Bridesdale people returned from the impromptu funeral.  The Squire was busy in his office, looking over Nash’s legacy, preparatory to sending it to Bangs, who had begged him to forward the documents without delay.  The only thing of note he found was, that Rawdon did not bank his money; he had no bank account anywhere.  Where did he stow away the fortune he must have made?  There was a note