The door was open, like the windows, to give all the air possible. The servants were standing about the stairs and in the passages. Everybody knew that the last act was about to be performed solemnly, and the master of the house on the eve of his going away. Most of the women were crying. Even when it is nothing to you, what event is there that can be so much as this final going--this departure into the unseen? There was a general hush of awe and excitement. And how it was that amidst them all that stranger managed to get entrance, to walk up stairs, to thread through the mournful group, no one ever knew. His step was audible, even among that agitated company, as he came along the corridor. They all heard it, with a certain sense of alarm. Was it the doctor coming back again with something new he had thought of, or was it---- “Ah, all of you,” Sir William said; and as he spoke the words the new-comer came in at the door. He walked up to the foot of the bed, no one molesting him. They were all struck dumb with surprise; and what could they have done, when a momentary tumult or scuffle would have killed the sufferer at once? For the moment every eye was turned from Sir William, and directed to Mr. Gus in his light clothes, with his little brown face, so distinct from all the others. He came up close to the foot of the bed. “Yes, all of us, now I am here,” he said. “I am sorry to disturb you at such a time; but, Sir William Markham, you’ll have to own me before you die.” Paul made a hasty step towards him, and put a hand upon his shoulder. “Don’t you see,” he said. “Go away, for God’s sake. Whatever you want I’ll attend to you after.” “I’ll not go away,” said Gus. “I must stand for my rights, even if he is dying. Sir William Markham, it’s your own doing. I have given you warning. You’ll have to own me before you die.” Paul, beside himself, seized the stranger by the shoulders; but Gus, though he was small, was strong. “Don’t make a scuffle,” he said in a low tone; “I won’t go, but I’ll make no disturbance. He’s going to speak. Be still, you, and listen to what he says.” Sir William signed impatiently to his attendants on each side--Alice and her mother--to raise him. He looked round him, feebly peering into the waning light. “They are beginning to fight--over my bed,” he said, with a quiver in his voice. “No,” said Gus, getting free from Paul’s restraining grasp. He made no noise, but he was supple and strong, and slid out of the other’s hands. “No, there shall be no fighting; I have more respect--but own me, father, before you die. I’ll take care of them. I’ll do no one any harm, I swear before God; but own me before you die.” They all stood and listened, gazing, forgetting even the man who was dying. The very children forgot him, and turned to the well-known countenance of the little gentleman. Then there came a gasp, a sob, a great quiver in the bed. Sir William flung out his emaciated arms with a gesture of despair.