“Not twenty minutes ago, I reckon, though I’m not sure. It was as quick as lightning. One moment he was talking bright and cheerful, and the next moment he was gone like a flash! Oh! make her get up, sir. She will kill herself.” “Palma, dear, you must let me take you in,” he said, laying his hand gently on the bowed head of his wife. But sobs were her only reply. “Palma, we will have to take him in and lay him on his bed. Come with me first.” But she only wept and sobbed. With gentle force he took her arms from around the dead, lifted her, bore her into the parlor, laid her on the sofa and called Polly to attend her. He returned to the porch, told Mrs. Pole to look after the babies and leave everything else to him, and called the grief-stricken ’Sias to help him to carry the dead into the house. It was a very light weight for so tall and broad-shouldered a man, but, then, it was but little more than skin and bone, a human chrysalis. They bore it to the chamber in the rear of the parlor on the ground floor, that had been John Cleve’s sleeping-room. Here they laid it on the bed to await the arrival of the family physician. The latter could do no good, but all the same he must come. Not until afternoon could the busy country doctor, whose practice extended over many miles, be found and brought to Wolfscliff. He was conducted by Stuart to the room of death. “A death from old age, pure and simple,” was the verdict of science. “Did you ever see a body more thoroughly consumed by the life of the spirit? I have known Mr. Cleve all my life, as my father and my grandfather knew him before me, and I never knew of, or heard of, his having a day’s illness,” concluded Dr. Osborne as they sat together beside the bed. “He was a saint prepared for heaven,” reverently replied the young man. Then they arose, and standing on each side of the bed, drew the sheet up over the calm, cold face and left the room together. The doctor went away, kindly offering to transact any business that was now required for the family and for the deceased at Wolfswalk. Stuart went to inquire about the condition of his wife. Polly had put her to bed, and Mrs. Pole had laid her sleeping infants in with her, the one on her right side and the other on her left. They were the best sedatives, for the tender mother was obliged to control herself for fear of disturbing them. Mrs. Pole, now as quiet and decorous as in the morning she had been noisy and turbulent, sat in a large easy-chair, watching the three. As Stuart softly opened the door she raised her finger in warning, and then silently arose and went to him. “She has just fallen asleep herself. I wouldn’t speak to her now, if I was you. She is sleeping very quiet,” she said in a low tone. “Thank Heaven! Take care of her, Mrs. Pole,” murmured Cleve in a low tone as he withdrew. Mrs. Pole closed the door and went back to resume her watch.