"Gerard!" he cried, "what's the matter?" but the figure gave no answer, faded away down the long room, and disappeared. Henry sat up in bed and struck a light, his heart beating violently. But there was no one there, and the door was closed. It had evidently been one of those dreams that persist on the eye for a moment after waking. Yet it left him uneasy; and presently he wondered if Gerard could be ill. He determined to see; so, slipping on his dressing-gown, he crossed the landing to Gerard's room, and, softly knocking, opened the door and put in his head.
"Gerard, old chap, are you all right?--Gerard--"
There was no answer, and the room seemed unaccountably still. He listened for the sound of breathing, but he couldn't hear it.
"Gerard!" he cried, again louder, but there was still no answer; and then, with the silence, a chill terror began to creep through his blood. He had never yet seen death; and perhaps if he had the terror in his thought would not have been lessened. With a heart that had almost stopped beating, and knees that shook beneath him, he pushed open the door and walked over to the bed. It was still too dark to see more than outlines and masses of white and black; but even so he could see that the stillness with which Gerard was lying was the stillness of death.
His next thought was to rouse Aunt Tipping; and together the two bent over the dead face.
"Yes, he's gone," said Aunt Tipping; "poor gentlemen, how beautiful he looks!" and they both gazed in silence upon the calm, smiling face.
"Well, he's better off," she said, presently, leaning over him, and softly pressing down the lids of his eyes.
Henry involuntarily drew away.
"Dear lad, there's nothing to be frightened of," said his aunt. "He's as harmless as a baby."
Then she took a handkerchief from a drawer, and spread it gently over the dead man's face. To Aunt Tipping the dead were indeed as little children, and inspired her with a strange motherly tenderness. Many had been the tired silent ones whose eyes she had closed, and whose limbs she had washed against their last resting place. They were so helpless now; they could do nothing any more for themselves.