"Ay. But, signed or not signed, you'll equally act upon it. I don't put it forth as a legal document; I suppose it would not, in this informal state, stand good in law. It is only a reminder to you, Anthony Dare, that you may not forget my wishes. Hold me up in bed, and have lights brought in." Anthony Dare drew the curtain back, and the rays of the lamp flashed upon the dying man. Mr. Dare looked round for a book on which to place the paper while it was signed. "I want a light," came again from the bed, in a pleading tone. "Julia, why don't you tell them to bring in the lamp?" "The lamp is here, uncle. It is close to you." "Then there's no oil in it," he cried. "Julia, I _will_ have lights here. Tell them to bring up the dining-room lamps. Don't ring; go and see that they are brought." Unwilling to oppose him, and doubting lest his sight should really have gone, Mrs. Dare went out, and returned with one of the servants and more light. Mr. Cooper was then lying back on his pillow, dozing and unconscious. "Has he signed the paper?" Mrs. Dare whispered to her husband. He shook his head negatively, and pointed to it. It was lying on the bed, just as Mrs. Dare had left it. Mrs. Dare caught it up from any prying eyes that might be about, folded it, and held it securely in her hand. "He will wake up again presently, and can sign it then," observed Mr. Dare, just as a gentle ring was heard at the house door. "It's the doctor," said the servant; "I know his ring." But the old man never did sign the paper, and never woke up again. He lay in a state of lethargy throughout the night. Mr. and Mrs. Dare watched by his bedside; the servants watched; and the doctors came in at intervals. But there was no change in his state; until the last great change. It occurred at daybreak; and when the neighbours opened their windows to the cold and the snow, the house of Richard Cooper remained closed. Death was within it. CHAPTER XI. HELSTONLEIGH. I believe that most of the readers of "The Channings" will not like this story less because its scene is laid in the same place, Helstonleigh. I narrate to you, as you may have already discovered, a great deal of truth: of events that have actually happened, combined with fiction. I can only do this from my own personal experience, by taking you to the scenes and places where I have lived. Of this same town, Helstonleigh, I could relate to you volumes. No place in the world holds so green a spot in my memory. Do you remember Longfellow's poem--"My Lost Youth"? "Often I think of the beautiful town, That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still: 'A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'