g quietly in the shadows
of the vast apartment, with his head buried in his hands, rose and did
his master's bidding.

"What hour is it?"

"Three o'clock."

"Gomez, strain your eyes seaward. Is there no light on the horizon?"

"None! The storm has wrapped the earth in darkness. Listen!"

A torrent of rain was swept against the streaming window pane, and a
gust of wind shook the frame in its sockets. The watcher turned away
from the window with a mute gesture of despair. No eye could pierce
that black chaos. He sank again into his seat, and looked around
shuddering. The high, vaulted chamber was lit by a pair of candles
only, leaving the greater part of it in gloom. Grim, fantastic shadows
lurked in the corners, and lay across the bare floor. Even the tall
figure of the priest, on his knees before a rude wooden crucifix,
seemed weird and ghostly. The heavy, mildewed bed-hangings shook
and trembled in the draughts which filled the room, and the candles
flickered and burnt low in their sockets. Gomez watched them with a
sort of anxious fascination. His master's life was burning out,
minute for minute, with those candles. Twenty-five years of constant
companionship would be ended in a few brief hours. Gomez was not
disposed to trouble much at this; but he bethought himself of a snug
little abode in Piccadilly, where the discomforts now surrounding them
were quite unknown. Surely, to die there would be a luxury compared
with this. He began to feel personally aggrieved that his master
should have chosen such an out-of-the-way hole to end his days in.
Then came a rush of thought, and he was grave. He knew why! Yes! he
knew why!

The dying man lay quite still, almost as though his time were already
come. Once he raised himself, and the feeble light flashed across a
grey, haggard face and a pair of burning eyes. But his effort was
only momentary. He sank back again, and lay there with his eyes half
closed, and breathing softly. He was nursing his strength.

One, two, three, four, five! The harsh clanging of a brazen clock
somewhere in the building had penetrated to the chamber, followed by a
deep, resonant bell. The man on the bed lifted his head.

"How goes the storm?" he asked softly.

Gomez stood up and faced the window.

"The storm dies with the night, sir," he answered. "The wind has
fallen."

"When does day break?"

Gomez looked at his watch.

"In one hour, sir."

"Stay by the window, Gomez, and let you