The footman softly laid the table for dinner.

The maid sat waiting in senseless doubt, with the hot-water jugs for the bedrooms ranged near her in their customary row.

The gardener, who had been ordered to come to his master, with vouchers for money that he had paid in excess of his instructions, said his character was dear to him, and left the vouchers at his appointed time.

Custom that never yields, and Death that never spares, met on the wreck of human happiness--and Death gave way.
Heavily the thunder-clouds of Affliction had gathered over the house--heavily, but not at their darkest yet.

At five, that evening, the shock of the calamity had struck its blow.