uld want anything there will be a little boy here, outside;
you can summon him by pressing that button. Good night, dear papa
Cambray!"

The sick man turned his face toward the screen and listened in dreamy
ecstasy to the sweet voice. He raised his hand, waved it weakly toward
the speaker, then clasped it with the other on his breast, while his
lips moved as if in prayer.

"Go fetch candles, and the tinder-box," whispered Marie to the little
Laczko. "Place them here by the sofa, then light the lamp in the
corridor."

"May I fetch my gun, too?" asked the boy.

"Your gun? What for?"

"I should n't be afraid if I had it with me."

"Then fetch it; but don't come into the room with it, for I am
dreadfully afraid of guns. Leave it just outside the door."

It was quite dark when Laczko returned with the candles and a heavy
double-barreled fowling-piece. He carefully placed the latter in the
corner, then asked:

"Shall I light the candles now?"

"Certainly not. I don't want the gentleman to know that I am here. Maybe
he may want something, and open the screen. I am going to lie down on
this sofa, and you are to stand close by the alcove and watch the
gentleman. If he should lift the screen, and I have fallen asleep, you
must waken me at once."

Marie wrapped herself in her shawl, and lay down on the leather couch.
Laczko took up his station as directed, close by the metal screen,
through which he peered from time to time.

But there was no danger of Marie falling asleep. She could not even keep
her eyes closed. Every few moments she would sit up and ask in a
cautious whisper:

"What is he doing now?"

"He is tossing from side to side."

This reply was repeated several times.

At last the answer came that the invalid was perfectly quiet, whereupon
Marie decided not to inquire again for an hour.

Suddenly she heard the lad say, in a trembling voice:

"I am dreadfully frightened."

"What of?" whispered Marie.

"The gentleman lies so still. He has n't stirred for a long time."

"He is asleep, I dare say."

"If he were sleeping his breast would rise and fall; but he is perfectly
still."

Marie rose, and hastened to the screen. The smoking wick in the
night-lamp near Cambray's head illumined his ghastly face. Marie had
already seen one such pallid countenance--that of the old servant Henry
when he lay dead on his bier.

She shuddered, and retreated with trembling limbs, drawing the lad with
her.

"Y