that from
henceforth you will be his father."

A few hours later the whole company sat down to supper.

They noticed that the Squire ate and drank nothing, but he explained
that, after taking the holy bread and wine, he would not sit down to
ordinary food, and meant to eat nothing till the morrow.

And the old servant waiting upon them whispered to Rudolf that his
master had not touched a thing since yesterday evening.

CHAPTER XXII.

LEAVE-TAKING.

Every one in the castle retired to rest early except Rudolf, who
remained up for a long time. The fire burnt cosily on the hearth, and
there he sat before the fire till past midnight, reflecting on the past
and on the future. To speak of his thoughts would be treachery. There
are secrets which are better left at the bottom of men's hearts.

Towards midnight a great hubbub arose in the castle, and servants began
rushing up and down stairs. Rudolf, who was still half dressed, went out
into the corridor, and came face to face with old Paul.

"What is the matter?" said he.

The old servant would have spoken, but his lips were sealed; he shivered
convulsively, like one who would fain cry and cannot. At last he came
out with it, and there were tears on his cheek and in his eyes--

"He is dead!"

"Impossible!" cried Rudolf; and he hastened to the Squire's bedroom.

There lay the Nabob with closed eyes, his hands folded across his
breast, in front of him his wife's portrait that he might gaze upon it
to the last. That countenance looked so venerable after death, it seemed
to have been purified from all disturbing passions, only the old
ancestral dignity was visible in every feature.

He had died so quietly that even the faithful old servant, who slept in
the same room with him, had not been aware of it: only when, struck by
the extraordinary stillness, he had gone to see if his master wanted
anything, did he perceive that he was dead.

Rudolf at once sent for the doctor, although one glance at the quiet
face assured him that there was no need of doctors here.

By the time everything was ready for the funeral--for indeed everything
necessary therefor was already at hand in the bedroom, the coffin, the
pall, the escutcheons, the torches--he had no longer had that fear of a
coffin which he had felt on his birthday. Everything was done as he had
planned it.

They attired him in his wedding garments, and so placed him in the
coffin. They sent for the very sam