and never varying tick, tick, and the scratching noise made by the quill
as it traced its inky characters on the yet incomplete codicil the
Baronet was preparing. The candles had burned low in their sockets, and
the fire on the hearth had died out unheeded by him who sat writing line
after line. Suddenly a spasm seized him. He, with great difficulty,
raised himself from the stooping position over the escritoire, but as he
did so, another spasm, more violent than the first, attacked him. He
tried to call for assistance, but his tongue clove to his mouth. He was
suffocating. He stretched his arm towards the silver bell, which stood
on the table, but it was beyond his reach. His head sank on the cushion
of the chair. His eyes closed, another convulsive start, and all was
over. Sir Jasper Coleman was no more.

For many months past it was customary whenever it was known that Sir
Jasper would sit up late, for Mrs. Fraudhurst, on passing the door of
his chamber before descending to the breakfast room, to tap and enquire
whether the Baronet would come down to his breakfast or have it sent up
to him. On the following morning the widow on stopping at the chamber
door discovered that it was ajar, and on pushing it gently open found
the room was vacant, the bed undisturbed and, it was quite evident from
its general appearance, that Sir Jasper could not have passed the
night--or any part of it--there. Though startled a little at first, Mrs.
Fraudhurst was not long in coming to a conclusion as to what really had
happened during the night. It had more than once occurred to her active
mind that such might be the manner in which the Baronet's life would
terminate. "And the hour I so feared may have come at last," thought
she, as the consequences that might accrue to herself, should such turn
out to be the case, rose up before her; but she was equal to the
emergency; quickly and noiselessly she descended to the private library
and, without rapping, entered, closing the door quietly after her.