Anthony Dare drew the curtain back, and the rays of the lamp flashed upon the dying man. Mr. Dare looked round for a book on which to place the paper while it was signed.
"I want a light," came again from the bed, in a pleading tone. "Julia, why don't you tell them to bring in the lamp?"
"The lamp is here, uncle. It is close to you."
"Then there's no oil in it," he cried. "Julia, I will have lights here. Tell them to bring up the dining-room lamps. Don't ring; go and see that they are brought."
Unwilling to oppose him, and doubting lest his sight should really have gone, Mrs. Dare went out, and returned with one of the servants and more light. Mr. Cooper was then lying back on his pillow, dozing and unconscious.
"Has he signed the paper?" Mrs. Dare whispered to her husband.
He shook his head negatively, and pointed to it. It was lying on the bed, just as Mrs. Dare had left it. Mrs. Dare caught it up from any prying eyes that might be about, folded it, and held it securely in her hand.
"He will wake up again presently, and can sign it then," observed Mr. Dare, just as a gentle ring was heard at the house door.
"It's the doctor," said the servant; "I know his ring."
But the old man never did sign the paper, and never woke up again. He lay in a state of lethargy throughout the night. Mr. and Mrs. Dare watched by his bedside; the servants watched; and the doctors came in at intervals. But there was no change in his state; until the last great change. It occurred at daybreak; and when the neighbours opened their windows to the cold and the snow, the house of Richard Cooper remained closed. Death was within it.