“What is it?—who—where is your master?” said Montague, with the incoherence of extreme agitation. “Has anything—for God’s sake, is anything wrong?”
“Lord have mercy on us, it’s all over,” said the man, staring wildly towards his master’s chamber. “He’s dead, sir; I’m sure he’s dead.”
Without waiting for inquiry or explanation, Montague, closely followed by the servant, hurried to the chamber-door, turned the handle, and pushed it open. As the door yielded to his pressure, the ill-omened bird of which the servant had been in search, uttering its spectral warning, started suddenly from the far side of the bed, and flying through the doorway close over their heads, and extinguishing, in its passage, the candle which Montague carried, crashed through the skylight that overlooked the lobby, and sailed away into the darkness of the outer space.
“There it is, God bless us!” whispered the man, after a breathless pause.
“Curse that bird!” muttered the general, startled by the suddenness of the apparition, and unable to conceal his discomposure.
“The candle was moved,” said the man, after another breathless pause; “see, they put it by the bed!”
“Draw the curtains, fellow, and don’t stand gaping there,” whispered Montague, sternly.
The man hesitated.
“Hold this, then,” said Montague, impatiently, thrusting the candlestick into the servant’s hand; and himself advancing to the bedside, he drew the curtains apart. The light of the candle, which was still burning at the bedside, fell upon a figure huddled together, and half upright, at the head of the bed. It seemed as though it had shrunk back as far as the solid panelling would allow, and the hands were still clutched in the bed-clothes.
