“Sitting there!”
“Ay, sitting there! Would you have me think him a ghost, Charles? Would you have me think him dead?”
“I pray not!” my uncle whispered. I saw that he was ashen, and stared at nothing wildly, as the old man stared at nothing, pointed at no one. Suddenly my grandfather lowered his hand; the light seemed to die out from his eyes. He sat mute and stiff; his fingers with the red gems flaming upon them gripping the board. My uncle lifted his glass hastily to his lips.
“To whom would you drink, Charles?” my grandfather muttered. “What toast?”
“Surely your health, sir! Your health!”
“You lie!” he roared, and started from his chair. An instant I saw him standing with the aspect of a madman upon him: the rush of blood to his dark face lent him the appearance of youth; his right hand was raised high. A moment I saw him—surely I saw him—for the manner of man he had been.
He clutched at his breast, cried out; and fell back in his chair.
Chapter XXIX. Intervention of Mr. Bradbury
At the immediate confusion and rush of figures I started up to assist my uncle; Thrale and his fellow-servants were before me. My uncle cried out, “Stand back, nephew! Stand back all of you; let him have air!”—and the crowding of the old men about the chair withheld me from my grandfather. So the event held me that I was insensible to other sound than the gasping of the old man; I caught a glimpse of his face, livid and sweating, as his head rested against my uncle’s breast; his eyes were agonised. I saw Nick Barwise thrust the old men aside; supported by him and my uncle my grandfather was aided from the room, while the old rogues fluttered and squeaked and gibbered about him. As they led him past me, I realised that Evelyn Milne was back in the room and was plucking at my sleeve and crying in my ear, “Are you deaf? Are you daft? Hark to the knocking on the door! Why don’t you bid them open?”
And I heard the clashing of the knocker and the beating on the door above the wind, as if death or the devil came in the storm, and clamoured for admission. I heard my uncle crying out, “Keep the door fast! No one comes in this night!” I stood confused, hoping that the knocking told the arrival of Mr. Bradbury at the house, and dreading lest Blunt and his rogues were come to take me openly and violently; still the knocking sounded over the beating wind. The old men, crowding out after my grandfather, muttered and laughed in wicked glee, that surely at last the end was come. And only the girl and Oliver and I were left in the room with the candles casting their ghostly lights upon us; and the weird shadows, dancing all about us; always the gale cried out about the house; the heavy, steady knocking sounded on the door.