practising all the gestures of one who makes his way through a throng.
Reaching the head of the staircase, he looked around, with sad and
solemn benignity, laid aside his staff, bared his hoary locks, and was
evidently on the point of commencing a prayer.

"Reverend Sir," said his attendant, who conceived this a very suitable
prelude to their further search, "would it not be well, that the
people join with us in prayer?"

"Well-a-day!" cried the old clergyman, staring strangely around him.
"Art thou here with me, and none other? Verily, past times were
present to me, and I deemed that I was to make a funeral prayer, as
many a time heretofore, from the head of this staircase.

"Of a truth, I saw the shades of many that are gone. Yea, I have
prayed at their burials, one after another, and the 'Old Maid in the
Winding-Sheet' hath seen them to their graves!"

Being now more thoroughly awake to their present purpose, he took his
staff, and struck forcibly on the floor, till there came an echo from
each deserted chamber, but no menial, to answer their summons. They
therefore walked along the passage, and again paused, opposite to the
great front window, through which was seen the crowd, in the shadow
and partial moonlight of the street beneath. On their right hand was
the open door of a chamber, and a closed one on their left. The
clergyman pointed his cane to the carved oak panel of the latter.

"Within that chamber," observed he, "a whole lifetime since, did I sit
by the death-bed of a goodly young man, who, being now at the last
gasp--"