_I dare not die and wear the thing!'_
His hand plucked at his finger thin
As if to ease him of his sin.
I gave a sudden gasping shout--
The wind that blew the window in
Had blown the candle out.

_'Quick, father, quick!_
_The ring ... her name....'_
There came a jagged spurt of flame;
The window seemed a furnace door
That gave upon a bed of ore;
The thunder rumbled out the muttered
Words that his failing tongue had uttered--
Another flash, a rending crack--
The old man crumpled like a sack;
I felt his stringy arms go slack.
How could he sit so dead, so still!
While wind snouts snuffed along the sill?

White shone his glimmering face, and dull
The sodden silence of the lull,
For when he died the wind had dropt;
And with his heart the storm had stopt,
All but a far-off mouthing sound
That seemed to sough from underground;
While silence paused to plan some ill,
Thwarted by thunder growling still.
All in the darkness of the place
With lightning playing on its face,