"Is he dead?"
"No," said the nurse; "if any change occurs I will call you. Go--I can attend better to him alone."
"Can I not assist you?"
"No, you will be in my way. Hush! Go at once; your mother is stirring. Be sure I will call you, I promise faithfully."
Basil left the room, carrying the cashbox with him, which he placed under his own bed, putting the key in his pocket. He did not seek rest, his mind was too perturbed. Towards midnight the doctor called in, and gently informed Basil that within a few hours he would lose both his parents.
"In one sense," he said, "apart from the grief which such a loss bears with it, it is a happy fitness that two old people, who have lived a long life in harmony with each other, should pass away at the same time, the allotted span of existence having been reached. I sympathise sincerely with you."
Basil gave him a strange look; so completely was his position recognised and established that he almost doubted his identity. It wanted a few minutes to sunrise when the nurse came to the door and solemnly beckoned to him. He followed her it silence; she pointed first to the bed in which Mr. Chaytor lay. The form thereon was grey and motionless.
"He died in his sleep," whispered the nurse; "not a sound escaped him. It was a happy, painless death."
Basil gazed at the still form.
"Now you know," he thought. "Forgive me for the deception which has been forced upon me."