The coffin, in which I am to be put, stands all ready in my bedroom; every day I look at it, and accustom myself to the thought of it; often I lay me down in it, and bethink me how good it would be were I never to rise from it again.

It is quite ready.

I took some trouble about it; it is just like hers.

My name has already been driven into it with nice silver nails, only the date of my death has to be added.

That priest is to pray over me who prayed over her, and how beautiful that will be!" "Sir, sir!" interrupted the priest, "who can read in the book of life and death, or tell which of us twain will live longest, or die first ?" The Squire beckoned to the priest to bear with him--he himself knew best.
"Further, remove none of the mourning draperies from the rooms, let everything remain as it was at the time of her burial.