"Dear uncle, I am here," she said, and took hold of his hand. His fingers closed convulsively over hers.
"Don't leave me," he said, and it seemed that for the moment he recognized her. He made an eager movement, half raising himself in the bed, and began to talk rapidly and inarticulately. He appeared trying to tell her something, but scarce a word could Aldyth understand.
"There's something on his mind, if only he could make you understand," the housekeeper said. "There! 'My will,' he said—I heard the words quite plain."
"I did not hear it," said Guy, who had come into the room, and stood near Aldyth.
"You may fancy he says anything," observed Miss Lorraine.
"There was no mistake about that," said the housekeeper, with an air of superior sagacity. "Now he's talking about the farm—don't you hear?"
At that moment, the prolonged howl of a dog rose from beneath the windows, startling and affrighting the worthy old soul.
"You know what that means?" she whispered. "It's a sure sign. Not but what I knew before. There was a robin this morning singing close to the front door, and I knew that boded ill. Ah, me! The poor old master! But we must all go when our time comes."
Hour after hour passed wearily by, and brought no change but increased weakness and restlessness and more imperfect articulation. Life was slowly ebbing. The doctor paid his last visit and went away, with no expectation of seeing his patient again in life.
All night the laboured breathing, the sad struggle, so pitiful to witness, went on. Guy, unable to bear the scene, went away ere the end came; but Aldyth was not to be persuaded to quit her place beside her uncle. All night she and her aunt watched him, and her hand held the cold, heavy hand of the dying man till life had fled.