"It will be morning soon," she said--"Priscilla, when will the
doctor come?"

Scarcely had she said the words when the doctor entered. He took a
comprehensive glance round the room,--at the still form on the
bed--at the little crouching girl--figure beside it--at Priscilla,
trembling and tearful--at Robin, deadly pale and self-restrained--
at the farm-lads and servants.

"When did this happen?" he said.

Robin told him.

"I see!" he said. "He must have fallen forward on getting out of
bed. I rather expected a sudden seizure of this kind." He made his
brief examination. The eyes of the dead man were open and glassily
staring upward--he gently closed the lids over them and pressed
them down.

"Nothing to be done," he went on, gently--"His end was painless."

Innocent had risen--she had laid the cold hand of the corpse back
on its breast--and she stood gazing vacantly before her in utter
misery.

"Nothing to be done?" she faltered--"Do you mean that you cannot
rouse him? Will he never speak to me again?"

The doctor looked at her gravely and kindly.