There were hurryings along passages, opening and shutting of doors, trampling in the stable-yard. She went across into another bedroom, from which a view of the stable-yard could be obtained, and arrived there just in time to see the figure of the man who had driven her from the station vanishing down the coach-road on a black horse--galloping at the top of the animal’s speed. Another man went off in the direction of the village. Whatever had occurred, it did not seem to be her duty to inquire or meddle with it, stranger and dependent as she was, unless she were requested to, especially after Miss Aldclyffe’s strict charge to her. She sat down again, determined to let no idle curiosity influence her movements. Her window commanded the front of the house; and the next thing she saw was a clergyman walk up and enter the door. All was silent again till, a long time after the first man had left, he returned again on the same horse, now matted with sweat and trotting behind a carriage in which sat an elderly gentleman driven by a lad in livery. These came to the house, entered, and all was again the same as before. The whole household--master, mistress, and servants--appeared to have forgotten the very existence of such a being as Cytherea. She almost wished she had not vowed to have no idle curiosity. Half-an-hour later, the carriage drove off with the elderly gentleman, and two or three messengers left the house, speeding in various directions. Rustics in smock-frocks began to hang about the road opposite the house, or lean against trees, looking idly at the windows and chimneys. A tap came to Cytherea’s door. She opened it to a young maid-servant. ‘Miss Aldclyffe wishes to see you, ma’am.’ Cytherea hastened down. Miss Aldclyffe was standing on the hearthrug, her elbow on the mantel, her hand to her temples, her eyes on the ground; perfectly calm, but very pale. ‘Cytherea,’ she said in a whisper, ‘come here.’ Cytherea went close. ‘Something very serious has taken place,’ she said again, and then paused, with a tremulous movement of her mouth. ‘Yes,’ said Cytherea. ‘My father. He was found dead in his bed this morning.’ ‘Dead!’ echoed the younger woman. It seemed impossible that the announcement could be true; that knowledge of so great a fact could be contained in a statement so small. ‘Yes, dead,’ murmured Miss Aldclyffe solemnly. ‘He died alone, though within a few feet of me. The room we slept in is exactly over his own.’ Cytherea said hurriedly, ‘Do they know at what hour?’ ‘The doctor says it must have been between two and three o’clock this morning.’ ‘Then I heard him!’ ‘Heard him?’ ‘Heard him die!’ ‘You heard him die? What did you hear?’ ‘A sound I heard once before in my life--at the deathbed of my mother. I could not identify it--though I recognized it. Then the dog howled: you remarked it. I did not think it worth while to tell you what I had heard a little earlier.’ She looked agonized.