hastened the failure of the old man's strength, the silence
of the great house was rarely broken by the sound of our
voices. My uncle lay helpless in a deep sleep most of the
time, never able to leave his bed until, revived by the
freshness of approaching summer, he had strength enough to
sit in an easy-chair by the window. Some fatal malady, the
nature of which he did not disclose to me, was evidently
sapping his strength. I had urged him more than once to let
me summon a physician, but he would not permit me to do so.
When summer came at last, he grew stronger, and was able to
walk, supported by Rayel, to his chair in the open courtyard
among the flowers.

The lion, which had been confined in its cage most of the
time since my uncle had grown so feeble as to need Rayel's
constant attention sickened and died in the warm days of
early June. Rayel was sorely grieved by the death of his
pet, and although he stood in the shadow of a far greater
sorrow, he felt deeply the loss of this lifelong friend. The
summer passed slowly, one day like another, casting on us
the same burden of anxiety and silence. I spent much of the
time in my uncle's library, poring over his books and trying
to shake off the melancholy thoughts suggested by my daily
life.

One day in early autumn, Rayel was sitting with me near an
open window overlooking the courtyard, where his father was
enjoying the open air.

"He will die to-day," said Rayel, calmly. "He told me he