At this moment a young face, swollen and red with weeping, looked down
from the stairs; and presently Evelyn rushed breathlessly into the hall.

"Oh, come up--come up--cousin Lumley; he cannot, cannot die in your
presence; you always seem so full of life! He cannot die; you do not
think he will die? Oh, take me with you, they won't let me go to him!"

"Hush, my dear little girl, hush; follow me lightly--that is right."

Lumley reached the door, tapped gently--entered; and the child also
stole in unobserved or at least unprevented. Lumley drew aside the
curtains; the new lord was lying on his bed, with his head propped by
pillows, his eyes wide open, with a glassy, but not insensible stare,
and his countenance fearfully changed.

Lady Vargrave was kneeling on the other side of the bed, one hand
clasped in her husband's, the other bathing his temples, and her tears
falling, without sob or sound, fast and copiously down her pale fair
cheeks.

Two doctors were conferring in the recess of the window; an apothecary
was mixing drugs at a table; and two of the oldest female servants of
the house were standing near the physicians, trying to overhear what was
said.

"My dear, dear uncle, how are you?" asked Lumley.

"Ah, you are come, then," said the dying man, in a feeble yet distinct
voice; "that is well--I have much to say to you."