It was his last. He sank back, groaned, and died; and at the same
moment the flame from the pine-chips flickered itself away, and of a
sudden the room grew nearly dark. Philip stood for awhile aghast at
his own handiwork, and watched the dull light glance on the dead white
of his father's brow. He was benumbed by terror at what he had done,
and in that awful second of realization would have given his own life
to have it undone.

Presently, however, the instinct of self-preservation came to his aid.
He lit a candle, and taking some of the medicine in the glass, smeared
it over the dead man's chin and coat, and then broke the glass on the
floor by his side--thus making it appear that he had died whilst
attempting to swallow the medicine.

Next he raised a loud outcry, and violently rang the bell. In a minute
the room was full of startled servants, one of whom was instantly
despatched for Mr. Caley, the doctor. Meanwhile, after a vain attempt
to restore animation, the study-table was cleared and the corpse laid
on it, as its mother's had been on that day fifty years before.

Then came a dreadful hush, and the shadow of death came down upon the
house and brooded over it. The men-servants moved to and fro with
muffled feet, and the women wept, for in a way they had all loved the
imperious old man, and the last change had come very suddenly.
Philip's brain burned; he was consumed by the desire of action.
Suddenly he bethought him of his wife upstairs: after what he had just
passed through, no scene with her could disturb him--it would, he even
felt, be welcome. He went up to the room where she was, and entered.
It was evident that she had been told of what had happened, as both