He had wished to perform the last office to his Mary, but his father and Archdeacon Howard conjured him to abandon the idea, and suffer the latter to take his place.  All were bathed in tears during that solemn and awful service.  Scarcely could Mr. Howard command his voice throughout, and his concluding words were wholly inaudible.  But no movement was observable in Herbert’s slight and boyish form; enveloped in his long mourning robe, his features could not be seen, but there was somewhat around him that created in the breasts of all who beheld him a sensation of reverence.  All departed from the lowly grave, but Herbert yet remained motionless and silent.  His father and Myrvin gently sought to lead him away, but scarcely had he proceeded two paces, when he sunk down on the grass in a long and deathlike swoon; so painfully had it the appearance of death, that his father and friends believed for a time his spirit had indeed fled to seek his Mary; but he recovered.  There was such an aspect of serenity and submission on his countenance, that all who loved him would have been at peace, had not the thought pressed heavily on their minds that such feelings were not long for earth.

These fainting fits returned at intervals, and Mrs. Hamilton, whilst she struggled to lift up her soul in undying faith to the God of Love, and resignedly commit into His hands the life and death of her beloved son, yet every time she gazed on him, while lying insensible before her, felt more and more how difficult was the lesson she so continually strove to learn; how hard it would be to part from him, if indeed he were called away.  She compared her lot with Mrs. Greville’s, and thought how much greater was her trial; and yet she, too, was a mother, and though so many other gifts were vouchsafed her, Herbert was as dear to her as Mary had been to Mrs. Greville.  Must she lose him now, now that the fruit she had so fondly cherished, watched as it expanded from the infant germ, had bloomed so richly to repay her care, would he be taken from her now that every passing month appeared to increase his love for her and hers for him? for Herbert clung to his mother in this dread hour of affliction with increasing fondness.  True, he never spoke the extent of his feelings even to her, but his manner betrayed how much he loved her, how deeply he felt her sympathy, which said that next to his God, he leaned on her.

At first Mr. Hamilton wished his son to resign the Rectory and join his brother and sister at Geneva, and then accompany Percy on his travels; but mournfully yet steadily Herbert rejected this plan.

“No, father,” he said.  “My duties as a son and brother, as well as the friend and father of the flock committed to my charge, will be far more soothing and beneficial, believe me, than travelling in far distant lands.  My health is at present such, that my home and the beloved friends of my infancy appear dearer to me than ever, and I cannot part from them to seek happiness elsewhere.  I will do all in my power, by the steady discharge of my many and interesting duties, to preserve my health and restore peace and contentment.  I seek not to resign my charge in this world till my Saviour calls me; His work has yet to be done on, earth, and till He dismisses me, I will cheerfully perform it; till then do not ask me to forsake it.”