'No, thank you, dear; I think I'd sooner be alone. I want to think.'

Julia looked a moment anxiously at this fragile girl, whose tiny head was
poised on a long, delicate neck like a fruit on its stem.

'Yes, go for a walk, dear,' said Julia; 'it will do you good. Shall I go
and fetch your hat and jacket?'

'No, thank you, I will not trouble you; I'll go myself.'

'No, Emily, I think you had better let me go.'

'Oh, no; I am not afraid.'

And she went up the wide oak staircase, thinking of the man who lay dead in
the room at the end of the passage. She was conscious of a sense of dread;
the house seemed to wear a strange air, and her dog, Dandy, was conscious
of it, too; he was more silent, less joyful than usual. And when she came
from her room, dressed to go out, instead of rushing down-stairs, barking
with joy, he dropped his tail and lingered at the end of the passage. She
called him; he still hesitated, and then, yielding to a sudden desire, she
went down the passage and knocked at the door of the room. The nurse
answered her knock.

'Oh, don't come in, miss.'

'Why not? I want to see him before he goes away for ever.'

Upon the limp, white curtains of an old four-posted bed she saw the
memorable profile--stern, unrelenting. How still he lay! Never would that