Raie jumped back into bed and snuggled down, with a sigh of relief; but sleep was impossible. She was on the alert for every sound, and heard the coming of the minister with a flutter of excitement at her heart. The atmosphere seemed to be charged with a sense of death, and the silence seemed more acute because occasionally broken by subdued snatches of conversation. She buried her head beneath the counterpane, as though in fear of beholding the King of Terrors in visible form. She recollected all the gruesome stories she had heard of death and the dying, and did her best to induce a nightmare. She imagined she felt the passing of Sir Julian’s soul, and a tremor ran through her being at the thought. Wondering if all were over, she heard the physician take his departure. It seemed as if morning would never come, for long hours passed without bringing light. Eventually, however, she awoke out of a short and troubled sleep to hear the yodel of the early milkman. The long night was over at last. At breakfast-time she entered the morning-room, scarcely knowing how to frame the question which rose to her lips. Lionel Montella was reclining in the easy-chair with his eyes closed; no doubt he was tired after his sleepless night. He opened his eyes at her approach, and glanced at her wearily. Then he gave her the usual matutinal greeting. “You look worn out,” she observed sympathetically. “If I were you I should go and rest until lunch-time.” He shook his head. “My father is dying,” he rejoined, in a low voice. “Did you not know?” “Yes.” She did not tell him that she had made up her mind that Sir Julian was already dead. “I am so sorry, Lionel. You must feel upset, and poor auntie, too. Where is she?” “In the sick-room; she will not leave his side. I have begged her to take some rest, but she is determined to stay with him until a change occurs.” They sat down at the table, but neither of them could eat. Lionel left his omelette untasted, and his letters unread; and Raie forbore to glance through the newspaper, as was her daily custom. After breakfast, she screwed up her courage and knocked at the door of Sir Julian’s room. She had made up her mind that it was her duty to visit the old man; in the daytime the ordeal did not seem so great. He was awake, and droning Hebrew prayers in an inaudible voice in company with the minister. Lady Montella sat by the bedside, her beautiful face drawn and anxious. Raie went over to her and kissed her without a word; she did not know quite what to say. She was a sensitive girl, and often restrained herself from mere shyness; but Lady Montella knew her well, and understood. Presently Sir Julian made as if he would sit up. “Ferdinand!” he exclaimed, and then again, “Ferdinand!” He had not mentioned the name for ten years. Lady Montella rose from her seat with a start; Raie remained inert, but the name attracted her attention. The sick man gazed at them as if he were dazed.