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 wife of the corn-clerk, by whose side she found herself in the procession. “Mark my words, the consistory itself will be obliged to interfere before long!”

“Oh yes, ’tis a fine warm day; there could not have been a better one for the funeral,” answered the little woman diplomatically, pretending not to have understood her aright.

Father Cvok looked a little odd at the head of his clerical brethren. The heavy, gold-embroidered, costly pluviale—the like of which he never had had on his back in all his life before—seemed to weigh him down to the ground, and, to tell the truth, he was not able to draw one breath of relief till he came home again to his Pepíc̓ek.

In the mean time harvest had come round again, and the people had so much to do, and their heads were so hot with work, that they soon forgot the old baroness and her funeral, as well as Father Heavens and his little charge at Záluz̓í.

But the baron did not forget.

Now he was his own master, and fully determined to carry out his own plans and wishes. He knew before-hand that what he intended to do would meet with great opposition from his relations and acquaintances—would doubtless be the cause of many disagreeables at first and might perhaps even make enemies for him; but he did not for all that recoil from trying to bring about a complete reconciliation with Jenny, and making her the offer of his hand and name, as an honourable man certainly ought to do. As soon, therefore, as the legal proceedings caused by his mother’s death had been attended to, and the most pressing business of the estate looked after, he resolved on arranging his own