At the stair-head he was encountered by General Montague, scared and eager, and just as they met the fearful sounds had ceased. “What is it? Who—where is your master?” said Montague with the incoherence of extreme agitation. “Has anything—for God’s sake is anything wrong?” “Lord have mercy on us, it’s all over,” said the man staring wildly towards his master’s chamber. “He’s dead, sir, I’m sure he’s dead.” Without waiting for inquiry or explanation, Montague, closely followed by the servant, hurried to the chamber-door, turned the handle, and pushed it open. As the door yielded to his pressure, the ill-omened bird of which the servant had been in search, uttering its spectral warning, started suddenly from the far side of the bed, and flying through the doorway close over their heads, and extinguishing, in his passage, the candle which Montague carried, crashed through the skylight that overlooked the lobby, and sailed away into the darkness of the outer space. “There it is, God bless us,” whispered the man, after a breathless pause. “Curse that bird,” muttered the General, startled by the suddenness of the apparition, and unable to conceal his discomposure. “The candle is moved,” said the man, after another breathless pause, pointing to the candle that still burned in the room; “see, they put it by the bed.” “Draw the curtains, fellow, and don’t stand gaping there,” whispered Montague, sternly. The man hesitated. “Hold this, then,” said Montague, impatiently thrusting the candlestick into the servant’s hand, and himself advancing to the bedside, he drew the curtains apart. The light of the candle, which was still burning at the bedside, fell upon a figure huddled together, and half upright, at the head of the bed. It seemed as though it had slunk back as far as the solid panelling would allow, and the hands were still clutched in the bed-clothes. “Barton, Barton, _Barton_!” cried the General, with a strange mixture of awe and vehemence. He took the candle, and held it so that it shone full upon the face. The features were fixed, stern, and white; the jaw was fallen; and the sightless eyes, still open, gazed vacantly forward toward the front of the bed. “God Almighty! he’s dead,” muttered the General, as he looked upon this fearful spectacle. They both continued to gaze upon it in silence for a minute or more. “And cold, too,” whispered Montague, withdrawing his hand from that of the dead man. “And see, see—may I never have life, sir,” added the man, after a another pause, with a shudder, “but there was something else on the bed with him. Look there—look there—see that, sir.” As the man thus spoke, he pointed to a deep indenture, as if caused by a heavy pressure, near the foot of the bed. Montague was silent. “Come, sir, come away, for God’s sake,” whispered the man, drawing close up to him, and holding fast by his arm, while he glanced fearfully round; “what good can be done here now—come away, for God’s sake!”