your place, John. I will try to understand him. Father!"--She
faltered a little over the word, but felt it was the right word,
now. The old man moved his head towards her with a feeble smile. The
expression of his face was clearer and more natural, only for that
terribly painful inarticulate murmur, which no one could comprehend.

"I have done all I could think of," Agatha continued, speaking softly
and cheerfully. "The doctor will be here soon; Mary and Eulalie are
down-stairs. I have myself told Elizabeth that you are ill;--she is
composed, and sends her love to her dear father. Was all this right?"

Mr. Harper appeared to assent.

"I will sit beside you till the doctor comes, and then I will write to
my husband. You would like him to come home?"

He seemed slow of comprehension, troubled, or excited. Agatha vainly
tried to analyse the dumb expression of the features. With all her
quickness she could not make out what he wanted. At last, a thought
struck her. His eldest son, his favourite--

"Would you like me to send for Major Harper?"

No words could tell the change which convulsed the old man.
Abhorrence--anger--fear--all were written in his countenance. He rolled
his head on the pillow, he struggled to gasp out something--what, his
daughter-in-law could not guess. She was inexpressibly shocked. One
thing only seemed clear, that for some cause or other the mere mention
of Frederick's name worked up the father into frenzy.

"Hush! do not try to speak. I will send for no one but Nathanael. Will
that content you?"

He made a motion of satisfaction, and became quiet. His features
gradually composed themselves, and, he sank into torpor.

Agatha still sat by the bed, holding his wrist, for she knew not moment
by moment how soon the pulse might stop. The old man's own daughters
were too terrified to approach him. They came on tiptoe to the door,
looked in, shuddered, and went back. No one stayed in the room but the
old coachman, who had been Mr. Harper's servant since they were both
boys; and he sat in a corner crying like a child, though silently.
Agatha might as well have sat there quite alone, the atmosphere around
her was so still and solemn.

She had never before been in her father-in-law's room---the state
bedroom, in which for centuries the Harper family had been born and
died. The great mahogany bed itself was almost like a bier, with its
dark velvet hangings, and dusty plumes. Everything around was dus